Friday, July 31, 2009

Life at three and a half

Dear Logan,

I've typed and deleted this letter more times than I can count. It's taken me days to sit and ponder on what I'm going to write about when it comes to life with you as a three and a half year old. Sometimes, I just don't have the words.

Much like other three and a half year olds, you are stubborn. It doesn't help that you got some of that from me, making you twice as stubborn. We butt heads. A lot. There are times that I just can't argue with you any more after I ask you to do something and you yell, "DON'T TELL ME!" I quickly pack up my work and take a break in the office.

I've given into the requests of "chocolate milk" (which is really Carnation Instant Breakfast, but you wouldn't know that) and "apple bars" (which is whatever flavor of Nutrigrain bar you pick out at the store that week) and you have this for breakfast every single day. For lunch it's always a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and you help to grab everything I need to make it. Dinner? I give up. You rarely eat. Which makes me wonder... If you hardly eat, how on earth do you have all of this spastic energy? It defies the laws of physics. I'm baffled.

Despite the never-ending chorus of "No", the insanely annoying Dinosaur growls that you speak in most of the day and the crazy bouncing off the walls as if you had just chugged a pot of coffee, your sweetness and humor shadow the times that drive me nuts and near strangulation.

The mornings when I wake up to the sound of you and Carter playing because you snuck into his room to say good morning, the bedtimes where your Dad and I lay down with you in bed and we each read a book to each other, and the times you play excitedly with your friends being nice and sharing your toys - sometimes, three and a half is more fun than I can remember.

You are sharp as a tack, knowing your ABC's and counting to 20. You know the names of many Dinosaurs. You ask about people and places we've been. Every morning I'm asked, "Where are we going today?" and God forbid we don't have something going on because you will insist that we do. When we drive around town, you point the directions out to me, knowing where to turn to go to Dad's work, where to turn to go to the daycare center, and where to turn to go to the gym. You are thrilled to start preschool and ask if that's where we are going that day. You are my little Personal Trainer urging me to go to the gym on the days I've only planned to stay at home. When we drive by, you point, "There's the gym! I want to go play!".

You still have an intense phobia of dogs, but spiders, bees, grasshoppers and everything I find gross is fine with you. You are drawn to the dirt patch in the back yard (which was supposed to be a garden - maybe next year!) like a moth to a flame. I tell you more than ten times a day to get out of the dirt and it only goes in one ear and out the other. "Boys are noise with dirt on them", so true in our house. So very true.

I love how you jump in puddles, cuddle with everyone on the couch including Kitty, teach Carter new things, run into the office to scare me at night and end up giving me a big hug and your zest for the simple things in life. You certainly add more to our lives than we could have ever imagined.

Hey Sweetie Pea. Guess What? I love you. Bunches and bunches.

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