mr. nine

Here you are with that bucket of tiny toads you and t.c. turned loose at the edge of the swamp.

And a picture with the latest building kit from Grandma and Grandpa. You and dad put this together on Saturday--very nice.


This is a picture of us ten days before you were born, T. Lookin' good, buddy--you were even cute before you were born.

This is you, a week after you were born, taking in everything.

This was taken Memorial Day, 2004. Still cute.

Here you are, helping your dad open his Father's Day gifts.


That second birthday where you were really shy.

This is you and Julia when she was just learning to walk. I could sift through about 500 more pictures, but you get the idea. You=adorable. Us=love you.

Below is something I wrote on your third birthday. Six years have passed, but not much has changed, except we can understand what you say now.

"Today was Tim’s third birthday, and this year he was into it. Last year he hid from his cake, overwhelmed, hands over his face, but not this year.

This has been a great year of Tim emerging from a baby into real kid, the same big hearted guy he’s been the whole time, deep booming voice and crazy ideas. (Toothbrushes are not flushable. I want to make that clear.)

Preschool starts in a few weeks and he’s excited to “play with friends,” as he says. He makes up songs now, and sings endless chirpy tunes in the car. One song is about dog poop, another about a dinosaur and a waterfall.

He’s not the easiest person to understand, mouth half full of oatmeal is what he often sounds like, but today’s song was, “You’re my mom and I love your bra.” He’s been weaned for over a year, but the rhapsodizing of former nursers—it’s both touching and hilarious.

On this night, three years ago, we caught him over the water in our bathtub. That was a surprise! We hugged and kissed him; I carried him down the hall, tossed myself into bed, fed him milk, and I guess he was happy to be here.

This afternoon I swept the patio before his birthday party. It took me a while. When we bought the house the patio was so unprotected from the sun and wind that we hardly used it. So we planted trees, and now it’s sunny in the morning, shady in the afternoon, private, and pleasant.

But we planted a catalpa tree and an ash, so we sweep a lot. The patio is made of random shapes of granite and marble set in a thick bed of cement, and in the concrete along the edge are the handprints of former inhabitants of the house.

Their names are Debbie Jo, Sandy, Gail, someone identified simply as S.T., an unnamed dog’s paw print, and the date 1967. I don’t know who they are, but I wish I did. I daydream that someday they may come back and look around and tell us how the house was in 1967, and tell us where they went from here.

Inspired by these four, when we extended the cement edge, our kids put in their handprints and a date. We only had five kids in 1993, and the baby handprint there makes me grin.

He’s thirteen now with a big old paw, long skinny fingers. He water skied for the first time last Sunday, and from the shore I could hear his sister in law clapping and cheering in the boat, her voice on the wind. Someday he’s going to move on from here too, and I wonder where life will take him.

I guess this is the thing—life just keeps getting better and better. I have always been so hesitant about change, always so happy in the present that I spend my time wishing I could freeze it right there. (Maybe this is a hazard inherent in living with babies?)

I wish this all the time and I love looking backward too, old photos, old handprints set in stone, the little ones that were. But lately I’m noticing that the future has a pretty cool view too.

Yet another child is heading off to college in a few weeks. She’s absolutely giddy with her extra long bed sheets and her little fridge, her schedule and book list. I felt sad when the others left for their dorms, and no doubt I will miss the cheerful energy this one has always radiated, her sense of humor, the million activities she’s thrown herself into, her constant stream of chatter, and the messes she left in her wake.

But the others only grew more amazing as they made the transition from my nest to their own, and so I can’t even feel wistful about this one….at least not too much.
Sending my love always, val"

Okay, Timmy, here's the best part: Thanks for being our kid. This whole family is better because of you, yes it is. love forever and always, Mom and Dad