Spiderman Kisses.

Somewhere between one and a half and two.  Not really a baby.  Not fully described by the word "toddler".  All boy.  Part comedian.  Part explorer.  Part stunt-man.  Very silly.  All intertwined with a sweetness that sometimes catches me by surprise.

Buster is fairly selective with his expressions of love through physical touch.  He gives sweet hugs and kisses to his daddy and me and he's been known to do the same to grandparents upon request.  He also voluntarily hugs his best little buddy, Mattias.  They like to hug at the beginning and end of each playdate.  Outside of this circle, Buster usually sticks to "high fives".

Recently, we were making our daily expedition to our neighborhood playground.  As we got closer, Buster let out a slightly surprised "oh".  In the sand, with his torso partly buried, was a Spiderman figurine.  His head was missing.  As I watched, Buster trotted over to him and picked him up.  Noticing, I think, that Spidey did not have a head, Buster gently gave him a kiss.

That little gesture embodies a whole lot of what I hope I never forget about this sweet boy at this age.

Snow.

It snowed.  We explored.  Buster walked ahead of me for a long time.  Then, he got tired.  And turned around to find me.  And lifted his arms up so that he could be carried for a while.  Little big-guy.  My arms regretted it, but my heart loved it.  

Time.

I've been slow to post.  I'll chalk it up to toddler induced attention deficit issues.  Buster has an attention span of about one minute.  Maybe a few more if I'm letting him watch vintage Sesame Street on DVD.  (Nope, we're not anti-television around here.  We're just very limited and highly selective television when it comes to Buster.  And, I feel pretty good about vintage Sesame Street.)  But, I digress.  It think I was writing about my attention deficit issues?

So I have a couple posts rolling around in my mind.  One about some "nesting" that Buster likes to do, especially in the evening right before bed.  And one about the ever growing rock pile that is the result of Buster's new rock collecting hobby.  Every venture outdoors results in at least two rocks being added to the pile.  (And, he's learning life lessons about the differences between rocks and doggie poo - sometimes things that look the same on the outside are entirely different on the inside.)

But, I'm going to save those posts for another time.  Its just about the end of Buster's morning nap, and I'm banking on about five more minutes.  Tops.

So, instead, I'm just going to write that, somehow, over the course of the past sixteen months, Buster has become a little person that I love spending time with.  I've always loved him.  No doubt.  And, its been hard for me to be away from him, like on the day that I am at work.  But, I've just realized recently that when I'm out and about without him, I miss him.  I see things that I wish he could see because he would be so excited:  school buses, trash trucks, crows, dogs, and smoke coming from just about anything.  And, he's funny.  He can be so silly.  On purpose.  And it makes me laugh.  Hard.

Life with a toddler certainly has its challenges and ever increasing responsibilities.  My daily prayer is that by God's grace and by the power of His Spirit we would raise Buster well.

At this moment, however, I am just reveling in the fact that I love spending time with my little boy.

Trucks.

Recently, I received a personal invitation to a "Home-made Monster Truck Race".  The invite came from a little neighbor who was wearing a hoodie about three or four sizes too big for his little frame.  He is probably about six years old. The race was set to take place in our neighborhood playground.  Our neighbor promised that it would "be at night, when it is dark, with flashlights".  He advised that I should consider wearing a coat and that I should be sure to have Buster wear a coat as well.  He also added that I could bring my husband along if I wanted.

Buster and I attended part of the race a few evening ago (with coats on, as recommended).  We watched as this little boy enthusiastically pushed Tonka trucks and mini-Monster trucks through the dirt and over jumps.  And, true to our friend's word, there were indeed flashlights.  He was pretty excited to have real life spectators.

Tonight, our doorbell rang and he was standing on our doorstep with his dad.  In his hand was my debit card.  I've developed a bad habit of just carrying a debit card in my pocket rather than carrying a purse - It just seems to me that an active toddler and a purse slung over my shoulder don't really compliment one another.  I had been missing and searching for this debit card for a couple days. He said that he found it laying in the parking lot and wanted to make sure that it got back to me.

I'll gladly attend more "Home-Made Monster Truck Races" if it means that I've earned some friendship from a little neighbor who'll bring back my debit card if he finds it in the parking lot.  Its just nice to know that I've got a friend watching my back in our 'hood.

Fire.

Perhaps we've gone overboard on trying to teach Buster about dangerous things that we don't want him to touch. Particularly with regard to hot things. Perhaps.

One of his most consistently used words is "hot".  He says this while bending his little body partway over and sticking out his hand like a school crossing guard protecting kindergartners from oncoming traffic.  Its quite dramatic and usually one "hot" is not enough.  Typically, there are at least several "hots".

He says this every time he walks into the kitchen and sees steam coming from something on the stove.  And every time he sees steam coming from a mug of coffee.  He notices exhaust coming out of cars and smoke coming out of chimneys.

Recently, he also noticed a man smoking.  We don't smoke and no one that we regularly spend time with smokes.  So, seeing smoke coming out of a person must have been pretty exciting and very dangerous looking for Buster.  Before I could stop him, he was standing in front of this unsuspecting gentleman in his most concerned bent over posture, arm straight out, palm flexed and facing the man, repeatedly saying "hot", "hot", "hot".

Buster probably lives by that saying that goes something like "If you're smoking, you'd better be on fire". All things considered, I think I'm actually okay with that.

Preferences.

Yes to vinegar dipped bread.
No to mashed potatoes.
Yes to lemon slices.
No to In-N-Out Burger (?!).
Yes to pickled okra.
No to green beans.
Yes to garlic stuffed green olives.
No to spinach and cheese casserole.
Yes to cran-raspberry, celery, and walnut salad.
No to sweet potato fries.
Yes to dirt.
No to apple pie.

Apparently, Buster is developing an interesting palate.  He sure does keep me on my toes.

A Gift.

I was given a lovely gift this past weekend.  Time.

A number of years ago I was introduced to the book, The 5 Love Languages.  The concept of the book is essentially that we all have a "mother tongue" through which we most naturally express or receive love - a "love language".  The book not only encourages us to identify our own love language, but, perhaps more importantly to identify and learn the languages of the people in our lives who we love.  The languages are generally described as Gift Giving, Acts of Service, Physical Touch, Words of Encouragement, and Quality Time. 

I've decided that one of my love languages is probably Quality Time.  When someone spends time with me, I feel loved.  If I love someone, its most natural for me to express that to them by just "being" with them.  I think I read another book at some point that likens this love language to the behavior of a faithful Golden Retriever puppy.  It kind of makes sense.  

I think one of my husband's love languages is probably Acts of Service.  One of the ways that he naturally expresses love is by serving or doing something for those that he loves.  By way of example, he does the dishes every night.  Every night.  He also starts my car on cold mornings, shuffles the car seat back and forth between our vehicles, takes out the trash, and vacuums.  I actually could go on and on.  Suffice it to say, as he is doing all those things, I think he is speaking his love language, and I feel very loved.  

This weekend, though, my husband spoke his love language in a big dog way.  And, at the same time, gave me the chance to soak of lots of my love language.  He stayed at home with Buster for two nights.  TWO NIGHTS.  And, I got to go down the mountain to Denver to spend the weekend with three of my girlfriends.  We hung out, talked, laughed, poked around a bookstore, cried, made cake balls*, reminded one another of truth and grace, and encouraged each other.  It was a Quality Time heyday!

I'm feeling very loved.  And, that's a pretty amazing gift.

*Cake balls, if you've never come across them, are essentially balls of wadded up cake that have been squished with frosting and dipped in chocolate.  It's an acquired taste.