What I Like About You

As I lay in bed the other night, unable to sleep because of the beastly cold/sinus infection that has plagued me for nearly two weeks, praying the NyQuil which I had finally relented to would kick in, I began to think about the three little bodies soundly slumbering in the two rooms next to mine and initiated a mental list of what it is about each one of these unique individuals that makes me happy. Enjoy!

Elliot

Daddy and I have decided that your nickname should be sweet and sour. You are oh-so-cuddly, giving me soft hugs with your head against my shoulder, sweetly kissing both my cheeks with your tiny pursed lips; screaming "MAMA!!!!" and then blowing me a kiss when I look your way. But, oh, are you loud and we are constantly looking to find your quiet voice in your pockets, outside the window, anywhere. Actually any voice a decibel lower than a shrill shriek would be acceptable. (We are confident that once you can talk, the screaming will diminish.) I like how you put your right ear close to my mouth so I can whisper a secret ("I love you stinky face!") and then turn your left ear so I can whisper it again. I like how you knock on the bathroom closet door every morning to see if "Mr. Blue," your toothbrush, is at home. I like how you pretend to put on oven mitts and then take muffins out of the oven–you always offer one to me. Thanks. I like how you wave at the character Little Toot when you are reading your book or to the icon of St. Michael the Archangel after we complete our closing prayer at breakfast. I like how you curl up your body to fit inside our toy washing machine, pretending it is your house. Sometimes I panic because I cannot find you and then I remember your hiding spot. (Maybe you too need a little peace and quiet.) I like that you like kimchee. And I like how you have become so attached to the Pooh Bear Grandpa Johnson bought you for Christmas, even though that means you scream when I decline your request to sleep with Edward Bear at naptime. 

Thomas

My little man, who is increasingly independent from his mother, I like how you pull out our old broken laptop complete with mouse and pretend to be Daddy at work, making phone calls on your cell phone, planning the next concert. I like how you also pretend to play video games on this laptop, giving me updates every minute or so on who is dead and what is occurring on the blank screen. I like how you took my picture with Grandpa and Grandma Swanson's very old camera (probably from the 1960s) making me hold up Nurse Nancy, the book I was about to read to you and then asking me if I wanted to view the image you had taken. I like how after reading Virginia Lee Burton's book, The Little House, you told me you wanted to live in a pink house just like the one in the book, except it had to be right next door to me. I like how we created a zoo out of Legos today while playing under the kitchen table–I was a lady on a trip, complete with suit case, and you were a cow. We got on quite marvelously. You wanted to end our story by having all the animals at the zoo die; I refused. Instead, we took one of the penguins home with us. Apparently, the penguin was a daddy carrying an egg because while our Lego friends dined, a baby penguin hatched. I like that. I like that today you built a Lego ship with four guns and informed me and Daddy that it was a Buffalo Ship. I like that today I found Daddy's suitcase filled with Star Wars guys and your Grasshopper record. Are you planning a trip? I like that even though you are getting so big, you still like to play and snuggle close to your mommy and that you always forgive me when I am tense or grumpy. Thank you.

Russell

I like that you say, "Mmmm," to every meal I make for you. It never ceases to amaze me how so much food can stick to your face. I like how you shake your head, "No," to every question I ask you, even when you mean, "Yes." I appreciate your desire for order and how you point and yell at me until I close a drawer, cabinet, or door. I like the way you look in your blue winter coat when you are wearing the hood. I like that you now say, "Mommy," instead of, "Momma." I like that when you hear Orthodox hymns playing on Ancient Faith Radio that you begin to cross yourself. And I like that when we have completed our prayers and you are saying good morning to Jesus and Mary and all the saints you have very definite ideas of which icon you are going to kiss. I like how you try to do prostrations; it makes me giggle to see your little head touch the floor. I like that whenever you hear music, you start to sway back and forth and dance. I like that when we sing the troparion to St.Raphael of Brooklyn, you sing, "Ra, Ra," for Raphael. I like that you wave your little fingers up and down when you are pretending to go to work. You always forget your lunch and have to come back and get it from me. I like that on the rare occasions you are allowed into the living room you will almost always find the picture of Uncle Russ and Grandpa Swanson when they were tinies and give them both a big kiss. I like that you like Grandpa Swanson so much. Whenever you see him, your face lights up and you say your version of, "Grandpa." I know he likes it too, especially from you, since you bear the name of his older brother.