My little sunshine puppy,
You are so smart.
We always figured you were pretty on top of things, but this month you have been giving us so much proof. You are so creative in the ways you communicate. You know many, many words (including, as of this morning, a key entry in the Clarke lexicon: dudju). You also use a variety of nonverbal signals that are clear, consistent, and understandable. You squeal a high-pitched Oooooo to mean Goldfish crackers, whereas other kinds of crackers are ca-cuhs. You wave your arm in a circle just like Justin Roberts did at his concert to indicate you want me to turn on the song “I Chalk.”
Last night, your brother was getting ready for bed and happened to brush his teeth in his underwear. Were you ever excited when you saw Spider-man on his butt. “‘Pide! ‘Pide!” you cried, poking his butt until he laughed and laughed. Last night I think you dreamed about your brother, because you sat up straight in bed and said, “Bubby!”
When we were visiting Mubby and Skittergramps over Thanksgiving, Skittergramps took you to the garage to see the fish in their winter home. After that, you kept going to the garage door and saying “Eesh.” I hope you didn’t feed them every time you suckered a tall person into taking you out to visit them, or they’re going to suffer from overfed fish syndrome.
I cannot let this month pass by without mentioning Harry Belafonte’s classic chart-topper on the topic of indentured servitude in tropical agriculture, “Day-O (The Banana Boat Song).” Miles learned it at school, and then I showed him the clip from the movie Beetlejuice that features the song. He loved it, you loved it, and we’ve been listening to it a lot lately. You like to sing along: “Six foot, seven foot, eight foot…” and you chime in with “BUN!” You also sing the refrain: “Day-doh! Daaaaaaaay-doh!” Sometimes it comes out more like “Day-go,” but more and more often you’re pronouncing it perfectly. In fact, you were having a very unusual power hour at 4 a.m. this morning, and you burst into a chorus of a well-articulated “Day-o” as your dad and I were trying to ignore you. You sometimes even copy your brother and splat your hand onto your face, just like the haunted shrimp cocktail did to the dinner guests in the movie. You like to dance to that song and many others. You do a funny little sway with your head cocked to one side. Sometimes you fall down.
You are crazy for anything water-related, which is harder to manage now that the weather is getting cold. When I take a shower in the morning, you whip the shower curtain open. It soaks the bathroom floor and your entire body pretty well. Sometimes you even reach in and rub my legs, which I assume is your attempt to wash me like I do you when you take a bath. You love your baths, especially when you share one with your brother. You ask for bubbles. You splash. You play with bath toys. You don’t mind a bit when I dump water on your head to rinse your hair. You drink bath water out of the rinse cup (gross). Last time, you ceremoniously stood up and peed. We drained the water before you could drink any of that batch.
Halloween was lots of fun, of course. You were a radioactive spider to go with your brother’s Spider-man costume, and you joined right in with his school Halloween party like you were one of the gang. We also went to a party at some friends’ house, and you and your brother had so much fun we didn’t even leave until ten p.m. That’s a personal record, I think.
You’re still mostly a jolly fellow, though we’re starting to see more obvious displays of frustration when you don’t get what you want (e.g., an open cup of water to stick your hands in and dump onto the floor). You can make some impressively loud shrieks of disapproval. Still, I wouldn’t change my overall assessment of your personality. You still laugh much more than you cry. You still love adventure, like going down the big twirly slide at the playground. You still give sweet hugs and kisses, and all I have to do to lift my spirits is think of the way you say “Mommy!” as you run toward me, a huge smile on your face.
You’ve also started to appreciate the humor of dishonesty. A few days ago, you were in the hallway, and I reached my arms out to you, hoping you’d come in for a cuddle. You smiled, nodded, and ran toward me. Just short of my lap, you stopped, grinned a naughty grin, and shook your head no. Then you turned around and ran back to the playroom. Maybe this is your version of “Whoops, changed my mind.” That’s a game Skittergramps and Uncle Tyler invented, and your daddy plays it with you a lot. It involves holding you, letting your escape briefly, and snatching you back into his lap. Oh, how you laugh as you pause mid-escape, waiting for your dad to grab you.
We’ve booked a trip for this February, which means you’ll get your first passport. This is about the same age Miles was when he got his first one, and I’m so excited to see your sweet little round baby face in a passport photo. There’s so much world to see, my love, and I am honored to be able to join you on your earliest explorations. Sooner or later, your teasing will become more serious, and you’ll want to run off on your own farther than the playroom down the hall. I’ll have to sit on my hands to keep from reaching out and pulling you back to me, because “Whoops, changed my mind” isn’t a game that lasts forever.
We’ll splash together in bathtubs and swimming pools and oceans, my darling, as long as you’ll let me. I won’t mind if the bathroom floor gets wet.
I love you.
Mommy
