My favorite season is here. And I haven't taken many pictures. No good ones anyway. Our annual trip to the apple orchard has been suspended because the last time we went, we came home with a puppy instead of a bushel of fruit. Jacob was not pleased. I keep telling him it is not my fault because I'm genetically predisposed to pick up any stray looking animal I come across. It's a compulsion - saving one animal at a time. He's ready to call the show Hoarders. I am a solid contender.
The newest Turner:
Her name is Apple because she was discovered among the apples. Creative, huh? These pics were taken a week or two after she found us. She is much bigger than this now.
The boys are fantastic. They had a ridiculously busy summer, traveling to the coast and back twice, up and down the mountain who knows how many times, and a couple trips to Atlanta and back. Ben had an intense therapy regimen for a couple months, doing speech twice a week and occupational therapy once a week. He made tremendous progress so we are rewarding him with a little break. He is speaking in sentences now, and using words to communicate EVERYTHING he wants, needs and notices. He is also Mr. Independent. Ben initiates games, wants to get in his car seat by himself, and chooses what he will wear the next day. He also believes he can be left alone on grocery store aisles, prefers NOT to hold hands when crossing a street and has determined that candy is a suitable breakfast, lunch and dinner. Yay. The toddler attitude is officially here. His newest obsession is automatic doors. He is amazed at the intuition of these clever doors, knowing the exact moment someone wants to enter a store, and also knowing to close behind them. I basically have to drag him away from this fabulous invention EVERYWHERE we go. And then run back and retrieve him when he gravitates back toward them. I officially hate all Targets, Wal-Marts and every grocery store ever. My former favorites, because the other thing these places have in common is shopping carts. The perfect way to tote around two wiggly children. Unless one of them is the boss of you and can do. it. himself. Ben is almost three. He will tell you this, but he will hold up two fingers. Or four, depending. He started school in September and doesn't turn around to say goodbye when I drop him off. He's got a group of friends he sits with at a table in the back and wants to "go to school, have fun" every morning when he wakes up. I am happy that he is happy.
First day of school:
Doing what he does best: following Jack
I promise he has more than one shirt:
Beckett is officially 12 months old. Or one year old if you want to be a jerk about it, reminding me that over 365 days have passed since he joined the family. It's gone by astronomically fast. I'm pretty sure I was just carrying that little bowling ball around, on my cankles, and pulling up my elastic waist-banded pants every few steps. Beckett is our comedian. His favorite activity is smiling and laughing. Anything that makes him do either or both is good with him. He likes to make everyone around him smile, likes to flirt, mimic, crawl like an Olympian, and eat like Kobayashi. He is not Irish, but his eyes smile. He has disproportionately small, chunky Hobbit feet and wears clothes Ben wore last fall. At the last weigh-in, he was a solid 24 pounds. He is very close to walking and can take a few steps unassisted. His favorite show is called Super Why. If he hears the theme song play, he will emerge from whatever corner he crawled to and sit like a potted plant for exactly 30 minutes. That's our biggest-little. The other 50% of B squared.
Baby's first spaghetti, an Italian milestone:
One year old and already partying hard:
Making another mess:
I'm happy it's fall. I like eating apples and smelling cinnamon. I love pumpkins. And corn mazes. And my favorite part is that I am NOT pregnant for once. Summer is over, the birthday season is upon us, and soon we'll be doing the holiday thing. Stores already have Christmas trees set up and ready to go. But... you'll hear from us before then. For real this time.