Hello, adventure boy.
Your dad and I were talking about how nice it is that your big brothers are old enough that we can send them out to the back yard or the park right behind our house to play on their own. We firmly agreed that you’re not ready for that yet.
You have been a crazy, energetic guy lately. In a way it seems like you’ve taken a step backward in trustworthiness, in part because your growing physical and mental skills have made you brave enough to try many stupid, dangerous things. I used to be able to leave you in a room for a few minutes while I did something nearby, but that didn’t work out so well yesterday. I was downstairs helping Miles practice piano, and when I came back up to check on you, you were nowhere to be found (and Tobin was no help). The door leading to the garage was open, so I went into the garage and started shouting your name. You didn’t respond, and I didn’t hear any tell-tale scrapes or footsteps. I was about ready to freak out when I saw that the porch door was open. You had grabbed a baseball bat and were heading outside. I’m so glad I caught you before you escaped. I am going to work really hard to remember to lock the door to the garage from now on.
This morning, you wanted to “play coffee,” which regular readers will remember is when you sit up on the counter and pour water from my coffee carafe into the coffee maker and pretty much everywhere else. It’s not too destructive a game, so I let you play it pretty often. You wanted to do it this morning, and I had a few emails to respond to, so I got you safely positioned with a chair right up to the counter so you wouldn’t fall. I double-checked that the door was locked, got some water for you to pour, and left the room for five minutes. When I came back, you were pouring my (previously unused) coffee grounds directly into the water reservoir of the coffee maker. You got probably a quarter pound out of the bag and all over everything.
I got angry. You got sad. It wasn’t a great moment for either of us. I hope we both learned something.
I’ve noticed lately that when your dad or I scolds you for something, you make a face in which you close your eyes tightly. Last week, I was running on the treadmill while you played downstairs. You started heading toward the back of the TV where you are most definitely not allowed to mess around. There are all kinds of cords and video game components and stuff you shouldn’t touch back there. Before I even said anything, you stopped, looked at me, and made your eyes-closed “punishment face.” I’m glad to know you’re starting to think through the consequences of your actions.
You give us plenty of non-frustrating moments, too. Your language skills are really growing, and you make us laugh all the time. You love to pick up objects and use them as a microphone to sing “Single Ladies.” You like to play your ukulele along with all kind of different music. You made Miles’s day yesterday when you requested his favorite pop song, “Stitches.” You even knew a lot of the words. You’ve also really gotten into the music and videos of Justin Roberts. He’s been a family favorite since before we had kids, and I hope he makes a tour stop around here some time soon so you can see him in person. His videos have been a welcome respite from Elmo (or worse, Barney).
We’re heading out tomorrow for a family trip to Nashville. It will be fun to see you interact with your cousins, and it will be interesting to see you in the context of not being the smallest person in the room. I hope the long drive won’t be too hard on you. Last time we made the trip, I think you cried for a pretty solid two-hour chunk. Hopefully this time you’ll be a little more easily entertained. We can listen to music and read books, and we’ll be sure to make time for pit stops so you can run around. At least we’re not in the middle of potty training. That could be a disaster. We’ll start that one of these months, but for the time being, you’re a lot more interested in toilets in theory than in practice.
Well, in typical practice, anyway. You were very interested in the practice of putting an entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet.
Your current favorites: reading stories (especially If You Give a Dog a Donut, Jamberry, How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight, and Goodnight Moon), jumping and dancing, playing outside, taking baths, eating a wide variety of foods (including your babysitter Olivia’s lunch), and giving really sweet hugs. You like to eat, but it hasn’t really shown up in your body too much. At your last doctor’s appointment, you were in the twentieth percentile for weight and fortieth for height. You’re kind of a little guy, but you’re a pretty wonderful little guy.
You’re a lot of person jammed into one small body. It’s not easy to keep up with you, but you’re a great incentive to keep healthy enough that I can love you for a long, long time. You make me scream and you make me smile, but I’m always glad you’re mine.