This weekend marked a definite milestone in our family… Gramps turned 90!  And four generations turned out to celebrate.

He’s a spry, rather odd old bird and as the years pass, so too does his desire to be alone.  He’s liking us all better and better and the solitary curmudgeon of the past has been replaced by an affable feller who likes to shoot the shit, trade war stories and make a few bad jokes.  Chuckles wildly when he hears one, too.

We love this Grandpa… not that we didn’t love the old one, but this one’s a whole lot easier to spend time with.  He’ll likely never see this post, but I wanted to honour him anyways, publicly… and where better than on this big ol’ innernet?!?!

These images are also a nice way to honour November in b&w over at Springtree Road….

Oh… and did I mention he hates to open gifts in front of people?  Heh.  Somehow, despite his chagrine at being the centre of attention most of the evening, he managed to endure….

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beasley- eve of turning 10!, originally uploaded by tlcphotos.

This was supposed to be posted yesterday… but unfortunately, no internet available. So a day late, but no less significant!

I have a ten-year-old son who still tells me he loves me. Frequently. And the sentiment is, more often than not, accompanied by a big hug.
I am in love with this child.
When I stared upon his fat, red, bruised little face the first time, right where he’d been tossed upon my distended, exhausted belly, all wet and slimy… I felt an intense, complete, unadulterated and eternal love. It was a feeling unlike anything I had ever known before.
It was a love I could not have possibly comprehended before that day. Sure, I carried him for nine months. I knew he was coming. But really… I didn’t. There was nothing about his arrival I was prepared for. I was months shy of turning 30 and I still had no picture whatsoever of myself as someone’s mother. Jeez Louise, I was still grappling with my role as wife, and to some degree, daughter- OMG, and daughter-in-law?!?!- another title, another role, another responsibility, where I was afraid I would prove woefully inadequate, was just not on my limited radar.
Breezley Bean, you made me a mother for the very first time. And in those first very moments of your life outside my body, I was lost. Swirling in an emotional sea, one moment giddy with the feel of you in my arms and another alone in the shower in those early days, weeping. Crying for this little, precious person… a little personnow so vulnerable to the world. I could never protect you again like I had those brief nine months.
But now, ten so very short years later, I’ve somehow found my way as your mother… most days. But as a son, my eldest son… I have no idea how I got so lucky. You amaze me everyday. You are a fantastic brother- a natural leader to your two miscreant cohorts. You are the boy of my dreams, yet there’s no way I could have possibly dreamed you, whether those first moments or who you have become as a wonderful boy.
I look forward and feel so very blessed and grateful that I am able to be a part of who you will become.
Ten is huge, my boy! I can’t believe it’s come. I love you more than I can possibly say…. Forever and ever and always!!

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My Zip. My Guga-roo. My youngest son. My middle child.

This is the day you were born. I remember it, as the cliche goes, ‘like it was yesterday’. Really. Not because yours was my first drug-free labour. Not because yours was our only birth here in our little Rocky Mountain community hospital. Not because yours was the birth that nearly made daddy a single father.

Yours was the birth that showed me how much more my heart could grow. After years of being convinced that I was destined to be the mother of an only child. Not believing a parent could really… truly… love more than one child. Certainly never believing I could love another as deeply and profoundly as I loved my first, your brother. After months of fearing what kind of mother I could possibly be to two….
The moment your dad announced you were a boy. The moment they flopped you on my stomach. The moment you breathed your first breath. I was lost. Right then and there, I grew another heart and you filled it up.

I was only able to hold you. To see you. For only a brief few moments before all hell broke loose. But during the chaos. I just wanted to see you, know you were OK. I could see you from my place across the room- with bed being madly raised to elevate my feet, needles being jabbed willy-nilly into my arm, blood gushing forth… and the soothing, background lull of the South African accent of the lovely dark haired, blue eyed (male… ahem!) anaesthitist- being weighed, measured and wrapped…. and passed to the waiting, welcoming arms of your daddy…
I finally held you. Dozy. I held you. I stared at you. A dark shock of hair on your tiny, perfect head. Fine. Downy. Soft as a baby bunny…. from then, you were my precious little Flopsy Bunny.

You allowed me to understand that love, my love, can be limitless.

Now as such a big boy. Now, with your sister among us, the middle child. Without a doubt you challenge me. Challenge me in ways, I never know I’m actually up for. Some days I am speechless at your antics. I am frustrated beyond my own comprehension. I want to tear what’s left of my hair out by the roots. Sometimes I do. I want to shake you by your slight, tanned, perfectly formed little shoulders. And some days I do. But as I step back, in my exasperation, and take a breath or ten, I realize these challenges are just your way of reminding me… that in the busy-ness of our days and the tremendous demands of siblings, older and younger, my precious Flopsy Bunny also needs me. Needs individual time. Time that is just for him. A walk. A story. A game. A seemingly endless conversation about his exploits at Halo. A big old hug. And most recently, long, juicy smooches.
You are a special dream. A beautiful, energetic, brutally intelligent, tiny, perfect, long-haired, blue eyed dream. Sometimes, during moments. Quiet moments as you colour your crazy creatures madly; or moments when you are a fighting Ninja, you and your own compact, coordinated little body, taking down hundreds of opponents at once; or moments when I catch you laughing histerically at some crazy thing on the toob. I just stare. Mesmerized. In absolute awe.

I don’t know that I can adequately put into words what your presence in my life and this family means to me. How special you are. How without you, our lives, each of us, would be less than. But always know, regardless the day… regardless the challenges… I love you as much as anyone can possibly be loved. Doubtless, even more than that.

Even as this big, six year old boy… you are still and will always be… my precious Flopsy Bunny.

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