a portrait of my second born

I've been trying for several days now to paint with words a portrait of my second born and to share some of the things that I especially love about Caleb. But I'm having difficulty finding the right way to show how clever he is when he fetches my sneakers from the other room after hearing me mention in an off-hand way that I need to put my shoes on. Or how helpful he is when he cleans up a mess (especially when he's the one who initiates the clean up) and how smart he is to know exactly where each item belongs. Or the way he sighs and claps his hands with satisfaction after a job well done, his baby belly plumped forward as he does so.

It's hard to adequately portray his episodes of pretend play, which grow ever more frequent -- the way he cooks with the toy food, or holds elaborate conversations on the toy phone, or climbs into the rocking chair to rock and feed his dolly with the toy bottle. I can't quite describe how charming it is to watch him pretend to sprinkle lotion out of an empty spice container and then rub it meticulously between his fingers. Or what a tease he is when he brings a Cheerio close enough to my mouth to make me believe he wants to share before he quickly retreats and stuffs it in his own mouth, his eyes laughing as he does so.

And that laugh! How to describe that laugh? The way he shrieks with pure joy as his whole body ripples with happiness. Sometimes he's the only one laughing, like when he walks up to Garrett and, with a sly grin on his face, whacks him on the head or takes a toy out of his hand. Caleb loves to get a rise out of his brother almost as much as he loves to play with him and copy everything he does.

How could I ever show how much he loves his silky, blue blanket, how, whenever he's upset I can send him off to go find that blanket and he'll diligently go looking. "Buh," he'll say as he walks off in hot pursuit, returning with the blanket in one hand, and contentedly sucking on the fingers of the other. Likewise, it is also incredibly sweet to be the recipient of his hugs and kisses, which he'll sometimes dole out on command, and always give after evening prayers.

Caleb is not always so sweetly good humored, though. He is stubbornly determined and has a lightning quick and often violent temper. When he's angry, you know it, and, because he can recover just as fast as he can lose it, it's usually best to stay out of his way and let him have his piece until he's resolved whatever it was that made him mad.

Meals with this child are an experience, what with how vigorously he'll throw aside food he doesn't want or place settings he is finished with ("Uh-oh," he says if they've landed on the floor). Or the way he finger paints with the milk he spills. He has, thank heavens, learned how to communicate with more than just messy, projectile actions. "More," he'll say (or sometimes whine), pointing to exactly what it is he wants.

In fact, verbally communicating is something he has quickly caught on to. He has words for so many things (thought often they are only decipherable to the adults he lives with). And not only that, but his receptive language skills surprise me at every turn. His ability to understand and effectively communicate have no doubt been partially responsible for how infrequently I get frustrated with him.

And that is Caleb. My resourceful, wild-haired, sly-smiled, always busy, acutely clever and observant second born. I readily admit that this is not the most masterfully done attempt at portraiture, but it was lovingly drawn, and I'm happy to have at least captured a snapshot.