calebisms.

Just some things recently seen and heard from our Caleb B:

Caleb was playing with Play-Doh at his little table. Kenzie kept stealing pieces and trying to eat them. He was patient at first, calmly telling her “No, no baby. That’s not for eating.” But after the fourth or fifth time of telling her to stop, we heard him say, “Kenzie! I said don’t eat it! I’m tired of this!”

I was sick and resting in our room while Luke and the kids were playing in the living room. I got up briefly to go see what they were doing. Upon seeing me, Caleb says, “Mommeeeeeee! Are you feeling better? Join us!”

The other day we were snuggling on the couch and I was looking at Caleb’s hands. Caleb looked up at me and said, “I think you need to cut my nails. It’s time.”

Luke and Caleb were going somewhere and as Luke was pulling out of the garage, he realized he forgot something. He pulled back up, ran into the house and then got back into the car. As they began driving away, Caleb said, “Okay, let’s try this again.”

Caleb is an expert at naming stuffed animals and toys. He named Kenzie’s dolls Ela and Olivia, and her lion Kuma. He named some other toys “Finally” and “Dinkin” and “Bucky.”

One night, Caleb was crying in his crib because Luke wasn’t home and he wanted his daddy to put him to bed. I let him cry until he was ready to talk it out and be a big boy. The next morning Kenz was crying about something this convo ensued:

C: No, no, Kenzie! No throwing a fit!
M: Then why did you throw a fit last night?
C: I did? (He put his finger on his lip and looks up like he’s deep in thought.) I’m sorry!

There are a few words that Caleb mispronounces and I just can’t correct him because it’s too cute. He says Vancougar instead of Vancouver, alligator instead of elevator, mines instead of mine (“is that yours or mines?”), mato instead of tomato, cado instead of avocado, froggy instead of foggy … just to name a few.

We’ve been calling him Caleb B his whole life, so he calls his sister “Kenzie Bees.”

He’ll say the most grown up things like “What did you say, now?” or “What was that, now?”

He’s a protective big brother and thinks he can tell Kenzie what to do. The other day, Kenzie was playing with a small object, and he said, “No Kenzie, you can choke put that down.” When she didn’t, he said, “Onnnne, twoooo, threeeee … that’s it – you’re going to time-out!” I stopped the little charade when he attempted to pick her up and remove her from the scene. She just looked confused the whole time.

Other frequent brother to sister phrases we hear:
“Kenzie that is NOT okay.”
“That is unacceptable baby.”
“Gotta tell the truth!” (Never mind that she only knows three words.)
Kenzie, mommy’s here, it’s okay!

When he wants to get out of doing something he’ll say, “How bout we do that tomorrow?” or “Not today, maybe tomorrow.”

We constantly hear “What are you doing?” and “Where are you going?” even if the answer has already been given. Repeatedly.

I love it when we are getting ready for dinner or a nap and he asks sweetly, “Can I play for a little bit?”

I’m a little afraid sometimes what will come out of his mouth. The other day we were touring a house and he kept looking at the realtor. Finally, he asked me (with her standing right in front of me) “What is her name? Does she have a dad?” (That could have gotten awkward, but she thought it was hilarious.)

Every time he stands on the back of the stroller he says “On aboard!” (instead of all aboard).

Sometimes he’ll be playing with his toys, giving them different voices. When I say, “Who are you talking to?” he’ll say “Nothing.”

He loves it when we are all four sitting together, laying in bed, driving in the car, or going on an outing. He calls it “family day,” and often calls for “group hugs.”

He has always been so quick and generous with his “I love yous.” We get them all the time at random moments and it never gets old. Recently he’s been saying I like you, too. “Daddy, I like you.” “Mommy, I like you.” And we take those opportunities to tell him, yes we MORE than like him … we LOVE him with our whole hearts. But the liking part is important, too. The more he grows and we learn more about his quirky personality, empathetic heart and effortless humor, the more I can say with complete certainty that I LIKE this boy. I really, really like him.

home.

Our house is officially on the market! And in no surprise turn of events, I'm a little sad.

Seven years ago we found ourselves in a bidding war for this house. I really wanted it – admittedly because we were getting married in a couple short months and I didn’t like our other living option. During our last walk-through of the house before making our final offer, the owners happened to come home early and we got to meet them. I tried my best to turn on the “pick us! pick us!” charm. It turned out that the wife knew our good friend Leah! So we talked and talked and hit it off. In a brilliant move by our realtor, he suggested we enclose a personal card with our offer so the owners would know that it was us. I remember writing that card and selecting my words carefully. I wrote about how I wanted to make their house our home ... our very first home together ... where we’d make memories and hopefully start a family. I wanted it to be a place of warmth, and security and hospitality and love.

This past week I’ve thought many times about that card and how those words weren’t just a ploy to get the owners to accept our offer – they were truly the prayer of my heart. And then I think, with utter thankfulness, about how much of that prayer was so graciously answered.

I won’t sugar coat it. It wasn’t long after we moved in that our charming little home started to feel a little … crowded. I love hosting and entertaining and cooking for people, but our house was sometimes an obstacle. My big family kept expanding and they basically had to sit on each other’s laps when we had them over. I couldn’t host a shower if there was a big guest list. After we had kids, we lost a guest room and sleeping arrangements had to get creative when anyone visited. I’ve spent several days over the past few years cursing that house, complaining and dreaming about the day we’d move into something bigger.

But now, as the possibility of us moving is as real as it’s ever been, I realize just how special this house will always be to me. It was the house that welcomed us home from our honeymoon – a blank canvas for us to color. I filled it with way too many Target trinkets. I tested recipes in the kitchen. I tried (and failed) to be a gardener.

It was our foundation through the most horrendous goodbyes and the sweetest reunions. It was our stable backdrop through arguments, tears, decisions and uncertainties. It was our warm shelter when the outside world was too cold and chaotic. There we could be us. Just us.

And when I think of Caleb and Kenzie’s childhood, I will think of this house. It was the place where "welcome home" banners hung from our porch as we brought our babies home from the hospital. Where we gave them baths on our kitchen counter. Where they kicked on their changing tables – him in his room with the airplanes swirling around him and her with the collage of mirrors above her. Where they first sat in bumbos then highchairs then boosters then at their own little table. Where we spent sleepless nights and took temperatures and first let them cry it out.

While it never felt big to me, it almost always felt like enough. It felt cozy and familiar and a place I wanted to be. It felt like home.

I know this blog may be premature. It may not sell and we may be there for more years to come. But maybe I need this. Maybe I need to remember what we are potentially leaving behind. It makes me realize – stay or go – we are going to be fine and we are right where we need to be.

I am reminded once again that we are living today the life that we will reminisce about and miss later. No, I won’t miss the steep driveway and not being able to get our car up the hill even at the lightest dusting of snow. But I will miss the warmth. The security. The hospitality. The love.

I wrote my hopes and dreams for this house seven years ago before I knew anything about how our life would turn out. The shadows on our front porch have grown from two to three to four. And I remember when that shadow was just one. Of all the times I've thought that it may have been better for us to have lost that bidding war seven years ago, I have to know we are who we are today because we won.