How to wear out your toddler in approximately 8,700 easy steps.

Step 1:

When you leave the house for your morning constitutional and your two year old decides they would rather walk than ride in the stroller, simply answer back, "Okie dokey."

Step 2 through 8,699:

Walk down the road, down the hill, across the bridge, throw some sticks in the water, up the hill, walk though the hay yard, down another hill, to the silo, up a road, play in the silage, play in the mud, check out the tractor, check out the bull dozer, walk through another hay yard, back up a hill, down another hill, back across a bridge, down the road, up another hill, through two sheds, across Grandma Curry's porch, by the tire swing, up the road, back down the road to talk to Grandpa, back up the road, up the driveway, into the house and onto the floor.  

Our path looked sort of like this:

If I had a nickel for every time I heard, "C'mon, Mom.  Hurry up!" I could retire comfortably in a beachy environment.

He discovered how fun shadows are this morning.
In addition to the 8.700 steps, he also squatted with his shadow approximately 20 times. 

Going, going.....

GONE.

T.O.N. (Time of Nap): 11:23am

Quality time

My family all congregated this weekend for a beef festival and much fun was had by all.  When I was pregnant a few years ago I remember stressing, hoping that Kenyon would have a close relationship with my folks even though they live a few hours away.  

Weekends like this one alleviate all those fears. 

I heard Kenyon say, "C'mon, Grandad, hold my hand."
I could have died happy right then and there.

Kenyon and cousin Kade played peek-a-boo in my closet, because it is obviously the coolest place in the entire house.  That, and fat, pregnant women can't follow you inside.

To say that he played hard would be more than a mild understatement.  His Auntie Lala ran him absolutely ragged, but Grandma Kate saved the day by pumping him full of ice cream.

This is Kenyon's new loading chute that has quickly become his most treasured possession.  Once he fell asleep on the way home I thought I could pry it out of his hands and lay it on the seat beside him.  He woke up, screamed bloody murder and only calmed when it had been safely returned to him. Only a little ranch kid could be so excited to get home to hook his new loading chute onto his pickup.

Ages and stages: Silage Edition

This year marks the third time we have chopped silage during Kenyon's existence.  How is this possible?  I have no earthly idea.  Year one, he was just a few weeks old and kept falling asleep next to the roaring diesel bulldozer engine.  Year two, he was interested yet still too small to be of much help.  This year, he's practically a man and needs to be put to work.  Obviously.  

The evening prior, the men had a safety meeting.  'Cause that's how we roll.

Obligatory 'first day of work' picture, complete with obligatory 'Mom, you're killing me' pose.

Dumping a load of corn silage so the men can get to work packing it in.

Brief tutorial on gears, levers and never making eye contact with the cameraman.

Day 1 of cutting and packing. 

Day 3.  A slightly noticeable change in size.

The end.

Saving the Best for Last

Sorry for the delay in posts.  It's been one of those weeks around here.  Not necessarily bad, nothing overwhelmingly good.... just busy.

Kenyon is rather fanatical about praying each and every time he sits in his high chair.  He keeps both his parents in line and makes sure we don't miss a chance to pray.  Really, I think more of us could learn from him.

Last night was no different when we finally sat down to eat together as a family at 8 pm.

"Mom, can I pray to God?"  (My heart always melts when he says this.  And it is always EXACTLY like this.)  I nodded that he could proceed.

He dutifully bowed his head, folded his hands and said, "Dear God, I like Mom.  And Dad.  And bubbles.  AMEN!"  He made sure to throw his hands in the air following his epic conclusion.

Amen, kid.

A Misnomer

mis·no·mer

misˈnōmər/

noun

1. a wrong or inaccurate name or designation.

   "“king crab” is a misnomer—these creatures are not crustaceans at all"

   synonyms:

   inaccurate name/label/designation, wrong name/label/designation,inappropriate name/label/designation "scientists say “killer whale” is a misnomer for what is one of the gentlest marine creatures known to man"

I feel that I should apologize for leading the general public astray.  After posting such sweet, heartwarming stories involving Kenyon I hear feedback that involves words such as angel or (gasp) precious.  I'm hear to tell you, precious definitely does not make my top ten list of ways to describe this kid.  Doesn't even crack the top 25.  

Why, you ask?  Because of moments like these:

• One morning, Kenyon walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.  Every bit the Betty Crocker homemaker that I am, I dutifully and lovingly asked Kenyon what he would like to eat for breakfast.  His reply?  "Mom, I want a beer."  (For the record, he settled for scrambled eggs instead.)
• We left Grandma Curry's house one evening and started the long, arduous task of walking back towards our house.  Halfway through our 50 yard journey, Kenyon turned towards me with a very solemn look on his face.  "Mom, my tummy hurts.  I need a beer."  

Can't fault a kid for trying.  

Celebrate!

Kenyon has a cousin, Ezra, that he loves to hang out with.  He lives in a nearby town and they get to see each other fairly often.

Kenyon and Ezra played together all morning while Ezra's mother stayed home and got nice church clothes together for a funeral as his great-grandpa had just died.

When we got home I explained that we couldn't see Ezra for several days while he traveled to attend a funeral.  How are you supposed to explain a funeral to a child?  I tried my best to explain to Kenyon in a somber tone that a funeral was sort of a celebration that Ezra's great-grandpa got to go to Heaven.
Kenyon sat very quietly for a moment, trying to process the information.  You could see the moment it 'clicked' in his mind.  He leapt up off the stairs, threw his hands high into the air and yelled, "CELEBRATE! YAY!"

Good one, God.  Good one.  

Talking About Tiny Babies. Read At Your Own Risk

As the countdown for the little one grows smaller and smaller I've been slowly chipping away at my lengthy to-do list.  Today's torture included washing all the new baby's clothing and putting it away in the dresser.

Torture????  Yes, you read that previous paragraph correctly.  Torture.

I remember washing and organizing these clothes the first time.  I was full of anticipation, excitement, wonder... all those emotions that are great when you are imagining.  This time around, there is no imagining as I can't help but think of so many memories with little baby Kenyon.

I hold up a little onsie with footballs on it and I remember how proud Wes was when he introduced his son to his high school football coach.

I find a stack of burp rags and remember exactly which ones were my favorite to use and always packed in our diaper bag.

I find little socks that have rattles in them and remember laying Kenyon on our bed and helping him kick his legs.  He would shriek with laughter until he was absolutely exhausted.

I find a onsie that has our brand on the butt and how proud Wes was to carry around Kenyon and prop him up on his shoulder where everyone could see the brand.

Sigh....  I have been crying so hard this afternoon I now have a splitting headache from an overload of happy memories.  My face is red and blotchy and I have a pile of used tissues by my side.  Wes walked in the house moments ago for a drink of water, saw the state of his wife and promptly exited without getting a drink.  (Although after seeing his hormonal wife in that state, I think he was ready for a drink.)