On Contact Solution, The Passage of Time, and Chatty Boys

I like to mark the passage of time with small and often ridiculous observations, such as, "When the boys were Charlotte's age I was already pregnant again," or "The last time I wore these pants I was teaching ungrateful, unappreciative high school students," or even "You know, we haven't been out of the house in awhile. I think the last time was three days ago when Charlotte puked on my shirt on the way out of the door."

Like I said, ridiculous.

Well, here's another one: I wrote this post almost eight months ago, and in it I mentioned that we had bought 11 bottles of contact solution for $1 apiece at a local antiques festival. (I also explain in that post that this phenomenon isn't as sketchy as it sounds. Wal-Mart throws out any boxes in their pharmaceutical department that are dented in any way, even if the products aren't harmed, and the folks who were selling this stuff get it for free and then turn a profit on perfectly normal, if a little battered, merchandise.) Anyway, tonight the contact solution pffffttt-ed out when I was rinsing my contacts, and when I reached into the cabinet to get another, I realized that we are officially out of the ones we got at the Gladiolus Festival.

I paused for a moment, feeling this sort of occasion deserved some special reverence, or maybe some heartfelt words of appreciation for the folks who sold us the solution. After all, I'd estimate that we normally spend around $5 a month on enough contact solution for two people, and that's the off-brand stuff. The solution we bought from the festival was name-brand, and at said festival I dug through many, many boxes to get as much of the name-brand bottles I could find.

And let me tell you, my eyes have been noticeably more comfortable these last eight months.

And now that those bottles are gone, I guess it's back to the Target brand. Sigh. It was nice feeling like a millionaire for once.

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Since the majority of you tune into this blog for news about our kids and not to read about the trials and tribulations of our contact solution collection, I'll share some of the boys' milestones from the last few days:

• This evening Baylor pointed to a picture of an apple on a wooden block, plainly said "apple," and then gave the sign for "apple" in perfect ASL.

• The other day Stephen was tickling Jack. When Steve would stop, Jack would look at him, give the sign for "more," and then actually say "more." It sounds a lot like "moe," but we know what we means. And he got tickled some more, just like he wanted.

• Baylor says "up" when he wants you to pick him up.

• Both boys are very conscious of their sister's comfort level. If she is upset, they run to find her sippy cup filled with water and bring it to her. Baylor loves to give her "kisses," which really just translates into him leaning his head toward hers and gently bumping foreheads. Tonight Jack was distressed that her baby puffs, which she snacks on, were all gone, and he proceeded to hand her the remainder of his peanut butter sandwich. I should also note that he had already torn the crusts off, so he was, in essence, giving her the very best of what he had to offer.

• Stephen was reading the boys a book that featured a hedgehog, an animal that I don't think I've ever talked about with them. In the middle of the story Baylor turned from Steve, started rifling through a box of stuffed animals, and then pulled out a hedgehog Beanie Baby. He handed it to Stephen, pointed to it, and then pointed to the hedgehog in the book. We were very impressed.

• I picked up Baylor from his nap the other day and he pointed to me and said "Mama."

• Jack can say "Jojo" and point to his Uncle Joey when prompted.

• On several occasions I have had one or the other boy look at me, make a statement of unintelligible, garbled syllables, and then wait for my reaction. When I say, "Honey, I have no idea what you just said," he patiently repeats his statement, syllable for syllable, completely copying his first attempt at communication. I'm sure it's frustrating for them; it's merely mystifying for me.

• Jack can plainly say "squirrel," of all words, and he dearly loves all squirrels. We have designated one of his books "the squirrel book" because, though it features a diverse assortment of woodland creatures, he flips the pages, ignoring all other pictures, until he comes across a squirrel. He proudly proclaims "squirrel" while pointing to it, and then continues with his search. No other animal gets named. Once the book is finished, he starts all over again. We probably need to find an actual squirrel book.

• Both boys can recognize the letter "O" on sight and like to say "Oooohhhh" when it's spotted. Jack also recognizes "A" and "B."

• The only color they can say is "blue." (It sounds like "boo." Very cute.) Any color they are ever asked to recognize is "boo." Any color.

And my very favorite:

• Yesterday Stephen and the boys were playing near the bookshelves, where Jack spotted a book on Audrey Hepburn. Her picture is on the cover, and Jack pointed to her face and said "Mama."

Now if that doesn't make a mama feel good, then I don't know what does.