I will follow the example of better bloggers than I, and write Ruary a letter. I have been writing blurbs in an actual journal, but I thought it was time to get wordy. This couldn't be more fitting, since this is the eve of my return to full-time teaching status, wherein I become an official working mom. Perhaps this over-the-top letter is my way of dealing. Poor Ruary, suffering for his mother's issues.

Dearest son of mine,

Today you are three quarters of a year old. I gotta tell you, kid, you're something. First off, let's just get this out of the way... you are gorgeous. You have managed to hold onto that blond hair, and that dimpled chin gets cuter every time you smile. And speaking of your smile... you have your super-animated, orange-slice smile that you break into when you just can't hold in the giddiness. But then you have your lipless, coy smile that you crack when you're trying to be shy but can't hold back the happy. I loves me those smiles. And finally, your blue eyes keep getting bluer. You're a striking young man... but I'm your mother, so I'm totally in your camp. I can't help it. It's going to be fun to see what you end up looking like. Will you be mostly a Hughes/LeClaire, or will you be a Schimelpfenig? Or a combination of the best stuff from both families? Who knows?!? But one thing is for sure... you're fun to look at, my little Potate. Those cheeks are simply edible.

So that's enough about your looks... that's not what life is about, after all, and your looks will not be your only asset. Let's talk about your, um, stubbornness. You have certainly inherited a strong will from both sides of the family. You have started throwing mini-tantrums when you don't get your way. You have a long fuse, but when it blows, it's angerangeranger-bottom lip-bottom lip, then you're done. Mostly, your tantrums have to do with MOVING. You would much rather be completely mobile at this point (and trust me, you are CLOSE to being a competent crawler) and you make these feelings known. Right now, your preferred method of travel across the carpet is rolling, and if you run into an obstacle, you're, well, pissed. And I can't blame you. But you have recently begun getting onto your hands and knees and lunging forward, trying to make that first valiant effort that will hopefully spur on the crawling monster. I am excited to see you make this leap, but I am also terrified, since this means you will soon be into EVERYTHING. Because you want to touch everything, so you can put everything into your mouth in order to taste everything. EVERYTHING. When you are in your little car (Aunt Karla and Uncle Peter's gift to you), you reach out to touch the world as it goes by... the sofa, the dogs, the dog food bowls... it's all so intriguing.

You're also standing. In your crib. When you're supposed to be sleeping. But hey, that's my issue... you are obviously having a lot of fun doing it, so who am I to deny you such joy?

More about you, moving... you love to DANCE. Whenever there is anything resembling music in the air, you are swaying back and forth or moving some part of you to a beat (even though it may not be the beat provided by the music). All it takes is a couple of bars from a song and you are getting your groove on. You even starting swaying in your high chair when Dad started softly singing a song across the room. I know all babies love to dance, but I'm picking up patterns in your movements, and I can't help but think this may be the precursor to "your thing"... that talent that each one of us has, that little thing we have to offer to the world. Perhaps you will be a musician. Or a dancer. Who knows? That's what is so cool about watching you change every day; I have no idea who you will become, but each day I see you take a step toward becoming that person with something to offer to the world.

Oh, can we talk about your voice? It's lovely. You sound like your father... it's slightly throaty, like a blues singer. And you SING. A lot. But usually it's very soft, almost mewing. When we're rolling along in the stroller, you often sing to your surroundings, almost as if you don't know that I can hear you. You're definitely not singing to me. But there are times where we carry on a conversation, yes indeed; you make a loud "AH" sound (which is a sound you make when we enter a new space so you can test the acoustics), and I make that sound back. You say it again, and I answer. This can go on for almost a minute sometimes. And by the third or fourth "AH" you are smiling. Such a fun game! You're also whispering, which is just so precious I can hardly keep from melting when you do it. I can't wait for you to say your first word. Will it be "dada" because you say "dadadadadadadadadada" A LOT, or will it be "mama" because you often say "mamamamamama" when you are upset? Or will you make Grandma Kathy the happiest person in the world and say "Gamma" first? Who knows! For all our luck, it will probably be "Dill" or "Scout" or "SHUT UP!" because that is what we say to the dogs. If this happens, I will momentarily consider myself the worst parent in the world, then I will get over it and work on the rest of your vocabulary.

Who doesn't love lists?

Recent favorites:
"Can You Hop?" book
Measuring cups
Dill's and Scout's fur
Ellen Degeneres (you love it when she dances... go figure!)
Standing in your crib and slapping the wall with your palm
Along those lines, SLAPPING
Pear/Mango puree, watermelon, avocado

Recent dislikes:
Peas and Spinach (after being fine with them for over a month... so fickle!)
Sitting in one place
Getting strapped into your car seat (although the tantrum fizzles as soon as the car is moving)
When Mom coughs accidentally when you are falling asleep (so scary!)
Having your face and hands wiped down after eating (to you, this is the purest form of torture)

It has been an amazing three-quarters of a year. I love you, my little Tater Biscuit.