Letters.

Dear James,

Your age is one that is a most interesting balance between the imaginary and the literal. Sometimes you fully believe dinosaurs are roaming the backyard, and other times, we tell you to “keep your eye on the ball,” and you put the baseball on your eye. You’ve been discussing how cool it is that babies live in mom’s tummies, and you are convinced that babies in utero like to eat licorice more than anything else.

After watching you dance in our kitchen dance party last evening, i’ve decided, for the good of your future girlfriends, we might want to get you some dance lessons.

Summer camp has been a success for everyone, except your little sister who throws a most heartbreaking tantrum over wanting to stay and play with you. Your naps have been long and your enthusiasm strong. Your only disappointment was when you realized camp is without a tent, fire, marshmallows, or curious George.

On our lunch date, yesterday, you walked up to the counter at Panera and asked the cashier to make you scrambled eggs. When she said she couldn’t make them, you replied, “its ok, I’ll have a cookie, then.”

I couldn’t figure out how to use the remote control car that you picked for daddy. Dad laughed at me, but, you taught me how to use it, and sang my praises with words of affirmation. Thanks.
Dear Josie,

You’ve been….

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Aunt Maria compared you to a dog, today. Her exact words were, “So she roams around making messes and pees on the floor when she wakes up? She’s just like a dog.” I’m sorry to say, it is more than a fair comparison.

You think you are invisible when you put your blanket on your head. You roam the halls believing fully that we cannot see you when you are supposed to be in bed. And speaking of bed, you bounce right on out of there at 5:30am daily. Unlike all other 2 year olds, you don’t even care one teeny tiny bit as to the location of either of your parents. You run down the steps, pour cereal (everywhere), and help yourself to gum. Sometimes you mop, other times, you dance in the cereal you poured on the floor. Usually, you take off your diaper and fully revel in the freedom of the wild rumpus you’ve created.

You choose your words carefully, and you mean what you say. In a rather unfortunate incident of rhyme, a few too many of your words sound a lot like the most unfortunate word of all. And since you choose to point out every single truck on the road, your dad and I have been swallowing a lot of laughter.

You accidentally dumped the entire bottle of bubbles on your head the other night. It was really difficult for me to muster the energy to clean it, because I put you to bed two hours prior.

We went hiking and you held my hand the whole time. As soon as we got to the parking lot, you booked it and ran from me as fast as your tiny legs could run.

The other day at the pool, you stole a watering can from an unsuspecting little boy and proceeded to “water” his mother’s shoes.

If more of us lived like you, anxiety would be much less of an issue.

Dear Rita,

As your great Uncle was holding you, he warned me that “he better not read anything bad about you on the blog.” He’s right, you are the sweetest. For the record, however, 3 min from the moment he put you on the floor to crawl, I found you eating dog food, and two minutes after that, you grabbed a piece of pizza and helped yourself to the cheese. Additionally, after waiting almost two days, you finally decided to poop…in the bathtub, while your siblings were in there with you, and I was home alone to clean it. Sweet? For sure. Beginning to make your mark? Yep.

You’ve reached most of your milestones in backwards order. First, you crawled, then you pulled yourself up to stand, then you sat, then you rolled over. I’m happy to know you aren’t confined by arbitrary rules, or the unnecessary order of things.

Today, while reading to James and Josie, you crawled off around the corner. I found you eating the dinosaur origami that you shoplifted a few weeks ago. At least someone is finding it useful.

 

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