Sweet Boy

So my cousin threw a party to rival all parties last Saturday afternoon. Complete with any and every detail a detail oriented person could ever hope for. The cake matched the cake plate which matched the high chair which matched the party hats. The balloons matched. The napkins matched. It all matched. In a non-matchy match kind of way. Even up to the art on the walls. And this kid was only turning one.

Basically either my cousin needs to become a party planner or I need to become a better mom. Because I'm pretty sure I have yet to get even so much as a Christmas present for either of my children. Oh and plus, she had everyone bring diapers to donate to their favorite charity instead of presents for the rugrat. So she's mom of the year, party planner of the year and philanthropist of the day. How very underachieving of her :)

But it's a gift, really. I have a gift of not being a good gifter. It frees others - like my husband - of the obligation to return a gift that I have given with an equally sufficient gift back to me. Because I don't give the gift that requires the gift back. I give nothing. Nothing but hugs, of course. You're welcome. And a merry Christmas to you, too.

So watching my cousin's little boy waddle around in a diaper at a party which exceeded my own wedding was pretty humbling. My aunt chided me later and said she warned her daughter not to set the bar so damn high. She's got a long road ahead of her if this is what birthday number one looks like. Then she smarted, 'yeah, all those blog pictures you took of Annie every week of her life? How's that workin' out for ya now that you got Quig??' Touché. Correctly observed. I have taken approximately zero weekly mug shots of Quig. Approximately. And he is in approximately zero framed pictures in our house. Thank you. Thank you very much. Please don't remind me of how awesome a mother I am. I am very much aware :)

Of course, it's due time though. Time for a little kid schmoozing. Annie and Quig whom I so affectionately refer to as Bo-Dan and Pork Butt respectively (again, you're welcome) are pretty dang amazing and deserve some devoted blog praise from time to time. This is for the mama in ten years so I don't forget them as little people.

So, Quig. He's our quigaroni and cheese. Our squigs. Squigy, Q-man. Punk. Creepo. Quig is our sweet little Pork Butt. For real. I could eat him. He's all sorts of tasty cute.

(You see in ten years nobody will remember that this was his cousin's birthday party pictured below. Everyone'll be all 'oh Kylie! what darling handmade party hats and wall decor! You sure threw a lovely party!' And I'll give a humble little giggle and say thank you :))

Quig is basically the most joyful little squirt you'll ever meet. Except when I try to drop him off in the nursery at church. Then, he's basically the most obnoxious, uncooperative, inconsolable little squirt you'll ever meet. However, for most of the hours out of the day, he's gold. Can't get enough of playing with balls. And water. Splasher through and through. Thinks banging the piano is the coolest thing since sliced bread. Has yet to give up trying to rip the mole off of my chest. Which is awesome except for the part where it's painful. 

Quig laughs a lot. Smiles more. 

Has the most beautiful blue eyes. Is a total joy to wake up to. Or so I hear from John who is less lazy than me and is the one who greets the dawn with Quig most days. And by greets the dawn, I mean greets the dawn. Early bird. Sometimes we pretend he's just that - a bird chirping from his crib, and we leave him there until it's a decent hour and we can muster the courage to get out of bed ourselves. JK, we'd never do that. Only sometimes. 5 times a week tops. No, really. Of course we get up immediately no matter the hour...duh.

As punishment for his early waking, he pays penance by being subjected to the antics and whimsies of toddlers. He's totally into it, I promise. That is not the look of fear. It's the look of pure adrenaline. His eyes are on the prize. And by prize, I mean the wall that North and Annie are running head long into.

I ought to mention that he's not quite as undeserving of a little thrill ride from time to time as you may think. Don't let the blue eyes fool you. The kid is a mean biter. Annie has a black and blue bruise that broke skin the size of a quarter from a Quig bite a month ago. I'm afraid it might scar. I think she wants it to though. Draws out the leverage she'll have later on life in sibling scuffles.

Here's Quig in action at a mere five months. It's cannibalistic, really. He sees smooth flesh and can't help himself. Photo-op be damned. He was hungry for mama's face. And went in for the kill.

He's just so darn precious though. Something about this next photo really speaks to me about his future. Can't quite put my finger on it. But I'm pretty sure he'll either work at Steak and Shake or a diner at some point in his life. He looks to be made for it. Can I take your order??

Anyway, Quig seems to have finally forgiven us for naming him Quig and has well repaid us for the first few months of colic. He went from the toughest of tough to deal with to, all joking aside, just about the sweetest boy ever. I love, love, love him.

I pray he'll be a strong man of God who doesn't break many girls' hearts. That he'd know the Lord from an early, but authentic age. That he'd lead his family. That he'd dote on his wife. That he'd be a man of compassion and abounding joy.

Thank you sweet Jesus for our sweet boy.

And then there's Annie. But I'll save her for the next post. She's got a big personality and needs a big post :)