Excuse me? How old did you say?

So much, so fast, so big!

Since our return from Mexico a month ago, The Ben has learned so many new tricks, new words, new dance moves, new facial expressions, and reached such great new physical heights, I’m beginning to wonder if he’s secretly been taking performance- enhancing drugs. He’s even accumulated quite a bit of hair atop his tanned melon which makes him look a lot more like the little boy blue that he is. Ben now stands just one short week away from his 16-month birthday, which I find hard to believe because he looks a lot more like a slow, bald 30-month-old. He looks so damn old, in fact, Anna and I have stopped trying to convince people of his age whenever we go someplace that lets kids under two enter for free. This weekend we took him to a children’s museum and when I asked the nice African-American lady at the counter for two adult admissions and one child under two she looked up at me like I was some miserly jerk and said, “Oh no you don’t. Uh-uh. Hunny, please, that boy looks old enough to drive. Who do you think I am? Give me 21 dollars, you cheap excuse for a man. You should be ashamed! (Then to Ben:) Little boy, don’t you never, ever turn out to be like your daddy. He’s a fool’s fool.”

Yes, ma’am.

Two weekends ago, The Ben and The Mife drove through hell and beyond in order to visit with his beloved Mormor way up where in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, while I stayed home and watched TV–-- I mean, remodeled the guest bathroom. And by the time they came home he was able to greet me with a bucketful of new words and phrases. The first was his interpretation of “Mormor” (mo-mo), which was obviously significant but perhaps not as impressive as his construal of the phrase, “Look, Daddy, Mommy got a gorgeous new haircut while we were gone!” (da dee, ma ma, cuh-teh, boo-ya).

So, after finishing the bathroom renovation project this past weekend, our dear friends from Virginia - Adam, Kristy and baby Emerson Rose - came to visit with us and sleep in every spare corner of our house, and not use the bathroom because the sink and toilet weren’t working yet (it’s so hard to find good labor these days). Emerson decided to throw a tooth-growing party with three of his new enameled friends on Saturday, which kept his poor folks on edge for a small portion of the weekend, but otherwise, Emerson’s behavior made me second-guess my labeling of Ben as the happiest baby on the planet. Emerson, now nine-months into his third lifetime (the first life, I was told, was spent as a short, flowering shrub, the second as a giant, hairy, gray orangutan) reminded me of a smaller, quieter, more-contemplative version of Ben, but every bit as happy. Whereas Ben will shout his love at you and smother you with overpowering bear-hugs, Emerson finds it more appropriate to sit expressionless and stare at your face for several moments, all the while preparing a glowing smile that he releases to you with an almost silent chuckle and happy spasm of his limbs. It’s cute and makes me feel very happy to receive, and it appears to make his parents equally delightful.

Just wait till he starts working that magic with the ladies. . .

Ahhh. . . good times. Good times.