Maggie

The moon loves her
For she is smooth and round and wise and the moon loves itself in her.

The stars love her
For she lights up dark places and she is most awake at nighttime and the stars love themselves in her.

The sun loves her
For she is alight like the sun and warm and the sun loves itself in her.

The grass loves her
For she whispers pleasantly in the ear and she runs with the wind and the grass loves itself in her.

The water loves her
For she chuckles as she goes and she invigorates the world and the water loves itself in her.

Love loves her
For she is made of adoration and trills and rushes of giddy delighted feeling flow where she appears and Love loves itself in her.

We love her
For she is fierce and bold and always brimming with unexpected joy and we love us more with her here to share us.

Two years ago today, we met a little lady who would go on to quickly, instantly, utterly captivate our hearts. As we celebrate our Maggie today (and every day), I am torn between inconsolable sorrow that her baby self is gone, incomparable joy that her toddler self is so happy and fearless and unique, and indescribable excitement to meet the self that comes next. Happy Birthday, my bold little amazon. We love you so very much.

Lightsaber Fight

Because When You Get Right Down To It, The Alphabet Just Doesn't Do Much

Max to Dad: I have a good idea, Dada. Here's what we're going to do: I'm the 'i' and you're the 'j', okay, Dad?
Dad: Okay. Wait, what? You mean, like, I'm the letter I and you're the letter J? That's what we're doing?
Max: No, no. I'm the letter I and you're the letter J.
Dad: But we're letters? Alphabet letters?
Max: Right. Exactly.
Dad: Okay.

[LONG PAUSE]

Max: So .... so how's it going, J?
Dad: Um. Pretty good, I. How's it going with you?
Max: Good.
Dad: Good.
Max: Yeah.
Dad: Yep.

[LONG PAUSE]

Dad: Are we still letters?
Max: Yes.
Dad: So, what should we do?
Max: We just sit together.
Dad: Okay.
Max: Say, "Okay, I."
Dad: Okay, I.
Max: Exactly. Good job, J.
Dad. Thanks, I.

Happy Mother's Day

Mothers Day Video from Ian Tillman on Vimeo.

Happy Birthday Gramps!

Unfortunately, my dad is celebrating his birthday with a rousing game of gall bladder removal, and he is therefore most likely blowing out birthday candles over a tragic hospital jello salad instead of having cake at home. We hope to have him home in the next couple of days, fully recovered and better than ever. In the meantime, however, if and when you wish him a Happy Birthday, wish extra hard, will you? He seems to require forceful good thoughts in order to get through his birthdays in one piece sometimes.

Gramps, we love you muchly, and we are all made a little zanier, more spontaneous, and happier by the fact that you are in our lives. Happy Birthday, Papa.

Uber-Tillmans

Today's pediatrician findings:

Maggie:
-30 lbs. (88th %)
-36 3/4 inches tall (99th %)
-head size: 88th %
-verbal skills of an average three year old. (The doctor asked if we had ever known her to string three or four words in a sentence, and we laughed. Because she's been doing that for nine months. Her longest sentence to date was nine words: "I want to climb in that tree now, Mama.")
-Ferocity of a thousand suns.
-Not at all a fan of shots or the parents who sold her up the river and allowed the shots to happen.

Max:
-42 lbs. (94%)
-41 1/2 inches tall (94%)
-Head size: the doctor decided not to check. It's still big, it's still bold, ultrasound confirms it's nothin' but brains in there.
-Healthy as a horse. A really healthy horse. His last trip to the doctor was over a year ago, and that was for his 3 year old check up.
-verbal skills of an average 4 year old.
-Beautifully polite and cooperative, even in the face of pokings and proddings of an extemely invasive and personal sort.

The doctor summed up the whole Tillman kid thing thusly at the end of our visit: "Well, you have nice kids. And they're very smart. And really, really tall." All true.

Because We Need A Friendlier Dialogue On The Record

Max to Maggie: Maggie! Maggie! Come here!
Maggie: I'm Maggie.
Max: I know that, Maggie. Come in here with me! Quick!
Maggie: What are you doooing, Mac?
Max: I'm hiding. I am playing legos. Come in here quick! I want you to play in here with me.
Maggie: Okay! Sure! (doesn't move)
Max: Are you coming in here, Maggie? I want you to play with me. You are my little sister. You are learning. I am teaching you to play.
Maggie: Why?
Max: Because I love you, you silly Squeaker Toy. (laughs)
Maggie: I love you too, Mac. Kweek Toy. (laughs)

A Whimsical Slice Of My Day

Alternate Title: Oh, That's Where Those Grey Hairs Keep Coming From!

Max to Mama (at the grocery store): I need all of that cookie.
Mama: No, I got it for you and Maggie to share. Maggie gets this piece, and you get this piece.
Max (loudly): NO I WANT THE WHOLE COOKIE!! I WANT MAGGIE'S COOKIE AND I DON'T WANT MAGGIE TO HAVE ANY COOKIE! MAGGIE IS NOT MY FRIEND SHE IS JUST A BABY! BABIES ARE BAD! NO BABIES! NEVER! ... (and etc.)
Mama: Listen. I'm going to hang onto the cookie until you calm down and are ready to talk in a nice voice. You don't get things by yelling at people. (and etc.)
[brief pause while Max sniffles and Mama lurks in an out of the way corner of the store to minimize disruption and Maggie happily eats her shard of cookie]
Mama: It seems like you've calmed down a little bit now. Are you ready to try again?
Max (somewhat resentfully): Yes.
Mama: Would you like to have your cookie now while we finish shopping?
Max (somewhat resentfully): Yes. But I wanted the whole cookie. I really did.
Mama: Yes, I think you made that pretty clear.
Elderly Lady Passing By: Ohhh, you've got a cookie, haven't you? Is that a good cookie?
Max: Yes. You know, Mama took my cookie away from me. I cried.
Elderly Lady Who Now Regrets Trying To Make Conversation: Oh? Well ...that's ... that's too bad?
[Elderly Lady scurries off]
Max: I was pretty sad about that cookie.
Mama: I know, Max.
Max: I wish I had Maggie's cookie, too.
Mama: Oh, well, Max.
Max: Thatwise I cried.
Mama: Live in the now, Dude.

Maggie Playing WIth Bubbles

Enjoy :)

Mama Error # 352,427: Do Not Do Exhausting Things Early In The Day And Then Try To Skip Nap

Maggie to Mama: I night nights, Mama.
Mama: Hmm? Wait, what?
Maggie:(dreamily) Night nights, Mama.
Mama: No! Oh, no! It's 4:45! If you go to sleep now, you'll never go to bed tonight! No night nights!
Maggie: Night nights.
Mama: Maggie? Maggie! Don't go to sleep, Maggie!
Maggie: I sleeping.
Mama: Let's read a book! Let's take a bath! Let's throw the ball or try on shoes or blow bubbles or eat a cracker or ... dear God Maggie please do NOT go to sleep! Maggie?
Maggie: zzz.
Mama: Oh no.

First Edition

Abdiox
An original story by Max Tillman

"We won't come in" said Max said. "Until the night goes and the day comes." I love you.
Dear Mama, last years ago I said I love you.
Monsters are in it, too. Their big feet are stomping. I have big feet, too, see? But they're not monster feet.
"I love you, Max." The monsters say that.
Dear Nephew, I love you. Like in Bob The Builder, right Mama?
See the stick on my shirt here? Thatwise I am a tree.
I love you again. I like you. You're the best.
I was talking about sitting there. I like chairs. Chairs are great.
I'm a grown up. But I can't reach a lot of things.
I'm under here now.
Reindeer and Santa, I love you. Put Max all over it. I like it.
Yep.
Love, Max

Just Because They're Pretty

Cute, With A Side Of ???

For reasons best known to himself, Max has taken to referring to Maggie as "The Little Squeaker Toy". When Maggie is upset or peevish or angry or sad, Max will sidle up to her, nuzzle her cheek with his nose, and say in his high-pitched patronizing-the-baby voice, "Hey, you Little Squeaker Toy! Don't cry! It's okay, I'm here, my little squeaker toy! Who's a little squeaker toy?" and etc.

I am not quite sure what to think about this new development. On the one hand, it's really cute. On the other hand, it's kind of weird, no? Maggie is not, by my observation, particularly squeaky, and she certainly does not condescend to be anybody's toy. On the other hand, it's REALLY cute, and Maggie LOVES it. It is frequently the only thing that can make her forget that her will has been thwarted by an unforgiving universe yet again. On the other hand, I strongly suspect that the whole routine, especially the high-pitched voice, is Max's sincere imitation of me when I am in full-on Mom mode, and I -- I guess I just wasn't aware that I came off quite so high-pitched and saccharine. On the other hand, it is really, really, very cute. And I reckon it is the most benign of the many names we can expect Max and Maggie to call each other as the years go by.

Watch Your Mouth

Ian to Chelsa: What is Maggie yelling at Max about?
Chelsa: She wants him to blow more bubbles.
Ian: Oh. Is she saying, 'bubbles'?
Chelsa: Yeah.
Ian: Thank God. It sounded like she was calling him a bastard. Why does she say 'bubbles' so it sounds like 'bastards'?
Chelsa: She definitely does NOT say 'bubbles' so it sounds like 'bastards'. You are just a sick, sick man and your sickness colors everything you hear and see.
Maggie to Max in the background: More bastards, Mac? I need bastards!

BRIEF PAUSE

Chelsa: !!!
Ian: See? You have to admit --
Chelsa: I still say you're a big sicko.

Happy Easter!

A Whole New Meaning To The Phrase "Head Games"

Maggie to Dad: Catch it, Daddy! (chucking toy phone and whacking Dad in the head)
Dad: Ow! Maggie, don't throw things at my head!
Maggie: Why not?
Dad: Why not? Because it hurts.
Maggie: Why?
Dad: Because it's made of hard plastic and it hurts when it bonks my head.
Maggie (rounding up for another throw): Here you go, Daddy! More catch it?
Dad: Ow! No. No more catch.
Maggie: Why not?
Dad: You're too violent.
Maggie: NO NO! I sorry, Daddy.
Dad: It's oka -- argh! No throwing things at Dad, Maggie! Owie!
Maggie: Daddy?
Dad (rubbing various welts on head): What is it, Maggie?
Maggie: I love you, too.
Dad (picking up Maggie and snuggling her): I love you, too, Maggie.
Maggie: Hiding, Daddy? More hide?
Dad: Yeah, okay. At least the blanket is soft.

Sunrise, Sunset

Max recently got a new big boy bike from his cousin, Ben. (Well, actually, technically, my cousin Ben.) (Well, no, really truly actually, my cousin's son Ben. But I can never remember whether that makes Max and Ben second cousins or first cousins once removed or second cousins twice removed or what, and who wants to wade through all of that anyway? So, for the sake of all of our health and happiness, let's just call him The World's Cousin Ben, okay?) Max was very excited about the bike and all the sweet intoxicating freedom it represented, and he took an inaugural lap around the living room with his uncle Augie (well, actually, MY uncle Augie, but let's just stop there), but then it was just a hair too big for him and it was really cold and rainy, and so there has been a longish interlude between the acquiring of the bike and the actual riding of the bike. Last week, though, the weather was in the 80s, Max has spent the last couple of months eating and sleeping and growing like a weed (a weed that eats and sleeps, I guess, and I hate that expression, anyway, because whereas you are unhappy about a fast-growing tenacious weed, you are generally happy about a fast-growing healthy child. I'm playing it fast and loose with the parentheses today, aren't I?), and so Ian and Max took advantage of the moment and began learning how to ride on the big boy bike.

They've gone out practicing three or four times, and Max's golden laugh rings out the entire time he is on the bike. After the first practice session, Ian came in and said to me, "I'm having one of those landmark father-son moments, teaching my boy how to ride his bike. I can't believe how big he is, now." I can't, either. The only consolation for losing Baby Max is that Boy Max is the most fascinating and charming and lovely and funny boy in the entire universe, and he is still ours. For a little while, at least.

Maggie Speaks, The World Trembles

Maggie to the general public, at the dinner table: I need chocka. (transcriber's note: chocka = chocolate milk)
Mama: After dinner you can have some chocolate milk, Maggie.
Maggie: No. No! I want chocka! (covers eyes with tragic hand and wails)
Dad: Finish eating, first, Maggie.
Maggie: I don't want it! I like chocka!
Mama: Not right now. Finish your dinner.
Maggie: Chocka.
Mama: Drink your water for right now, please.
(unintelligible grumbling from the high chair for a minute or two)
Maggie (raising one finger in the air): Hey, Guys! I have idea! I have idea!
(pause while Ian and Chelsa simultaneously marvel at Maggie's verbosity and brace themselves for the inevitable)
Mama: What's your idea, Maggie?
Maggie: How about ... chocka!

They Annoy Each Other, But They Amuse Me

Maggie to Max: Hi, Mac!
Max: Hello, Maggie.
Maggie: More play, Mac? I wanna play!
Max: I am not called Mac. I'm Ma-X. M-A-X spells MAX.
Maggie: Hi, Mac!
Max: Stop it, Maggie.
Maggie: I love you, too, Mac.
Max: (Heavy sigh) Mama! Maggie is teasing me!
Mama: No, no. She's trying to say your name, but she doesn't know how to pronounce the 'x', so she's saying 'Mac' instead of 'Max'. You just have to keep reminding her, and showing her how to pronounce it the right way, and she'll get it eventually.
Max: Maggie makes a lot of problems.
Maggie: I'm me!
Max: I know, Maggie.
Maggie: I love you, too.
Max: I love you, too, Maggie. But you really need to learn how to announce my name.

Happy Birthday, Sophia!

We wish we were there, or you were here, so we could hand-feed you ice cream and bask in the glow of your first year triumph. Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl!