Tag Archives: letters to my son

May 20, 2013 · 3:12 pm

Forty-four

Dear Roper,

You want a brother. You want to know how babies get in ladies’ bellies. You’re absolutely furious that you can’t grow a mustache. Some days you’re scared of your underpants. You want to swing higher than physics allow, and laugh hysterically when I can’t keep up with you on foot when you’re riding your bike. You’re hungry – always so hungry. You want to know what bees eat. When it’s chilly outside you instruct me to call the Fire Department and tell them to warm it up.

For a week you sported a giant tattoo that said “bookish” which I adored because I grew up with my nose in a book. You were so proud of that tattoo and showed it to everyone. It left a HILARIOUS tan line. You planted a flower bulb in preschool and sang to it the whole way home, coaxing it to grow and promising it water and sunshine. When we go to a park, you’re a little reserved at first and then make fast friends telling them, “You’re so cool,” “You did a really good job,” and, “Be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt.” You can now ride a pedal bike!

I am so proud of the creative, courageous and kind Little Man you’re becoming.

You are starting to look a little more like your dad, but you’ll always be my Mini Me. You know you can crack me up by saying, “Don’t let the beat mmmmmmm….drrrrrOPP!” in Beastie Boys style. You manipulate me with your ability to make me laugh. You manipulate me, period.

You can write your name. We had no idea – you kept coming home from preschool with artwork signed by a very shaky hand, but we assumed your teachers were helping you because you wouldn’t draw so much as a circle for us. And then I offered to write your name on Oma’s Mother’s Day card. You became enraged and yelled, “I CAN DO IT MYSELF!” And you did. You wrote your name very clearly on that card and everything else you can get your hands on.

You love to wrestle. Violently.

You are growing tall and your legs are long. I think you’ll take after your mama and earn the nickname “bird legs” by the time you hit elementary school. One morning you told me, “I growed up to be a man last night. I just did that.” I thought you meant that you grew taller overnight, but you were using it as a negotiation tool. “So I can have fire, Mama? Just a little bit of fire?” No, Little Bear, not even a little bit.

You are honest. Brutally honest. When your dad sang a little song for you in the car you announced, “That was a really terrible song, Dad. Awful.” And after I had a particularly difficult day and your dad was comforting me by reminding me of all the people who love me, you sidled up to me and (very creepily) whispered in my ear, “Your mom is dead.” Ummmm…NOT HELPFUL.

For all of your rough and tumble, you are equal parts tender and perceptive. You worry about people. One day after leaving Papa Bear’s house you said, “Papa Bear doesn’t have a friend up at the house. He doesn’t get to have Nanny anymore, so he’s lonely. Maybe Nanny will get better and come back from heaven.” OK, so it’s possible that you misunderstood the whole Easter/resurrection thing and applied it to everyone in general. But it is so incredibly sweet to hear that you’re thinking about other people and how they might be feeling.

And you don’t have to worry about Papa Bear – he has YOU as his little buddy.

You are resilient and adaptive and have handled all of the crazy changes in our lives with far more grace than I have. You and your dad were bachelors for two weeks while I was in Africa, and then you spent time with both grandpas while Daddy and I were in Belize. Although it causes me great anxiety to leave you for any length of time, you are so blessed to have such amazing role models in your life.

However, with our parenting, you pretty much have ZERO chance of fitting in at school (in our defense, we’ve started a therapy fund). When we’re home alone, I raise you on a steady diet of Janis Joplin and Elmore James. You’ve picked up your dad’s weird Tobyisms, you think it’s OK to fart on people, and you use gigantic words that no three-year-old should use. You are so completely, emphatically and defiantly YOU. And although I could do without the defiant part, I hope you never completely tame that personality of yours. It’s a keeper – just like you.

I love you, Little Bear. To the moon and back, times infinity. Plus a little more each and every day.

Love,

Your Mama

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February 4, 2013 · 3:47 pm

Forty-one

Dear Roper,

You are now forty-one months old. How on earth did that happen?! I am only writing to you every few months now. Although you provide enough high jinks and antics to warrant a letter every WEEK, I would rather be participating in the awesomeness than writing about it. And yes, sometimes that “awesomeness” would be better described as “time in the trenches”.

Your spirited personality has not changed over time, only amplified.

We’ve had a rough couple of months, Little Bear. Your beloved Nanny (my mom) suffered cardiac arrest in the early morning of November 29^th and passed away on December 7^th. It was unexpected and devastating and tore my heart apart in grief. She left us as she would have chosen, but way, WAY too early.

You are too young to fully understand death (I’m not sure I even do) but I did my best to involve you in the transition, while shielding you from the scary stuff. We were very straightforward with the facts. You visited the hospital waiting room almost every day while Nanny was in the ICU and we talked about how she was in a coma and not waking up. When she was taken off life support you chose to come in to say goodbye to her, and you climbed up on a chair so you could kiss her arm and cheek. You attended Nanny’s memorial and participated in some of the planning and many of the discussions.

Although you don’t entirely understand what has happened, I hope that as you get older you will have these memories to knit together. You will know that you were part of the process. My Grandma Bee (Papa Bear’s mama) died when I was four, so I know what it’s like to have confused memories and to be cheated out of having an amazing woman in my life.

You will probably experience the same thing.

Please know that your Nanny loved you with all of her heart. I feel so blessed that she got to know you, know your personality, and spend so much time with you. She was so proud of you, Roper. And in awe of your strong-willed character – I think you guys would have gone toe-to-toe quiet often through the years. I want you to know that she loved you, that when you weren’t together she was thinking about you and buying you presents, and that she got a kick out of telling stories about you.

Rarely a day goes by that you don’t mention Nanny. You ask about why she’s gone, where she is, if she’ll wake up again and if she can see you. We look at pictures and I tell you that she’s in heaven and that she’s your little angel, and that she will always be in our hearts. I tell you that it’s OK to be sad, but it’s also OK to be happy. That we should celebrate her as much as possible.

It’s been brutal. You’ve seen your mom mourn, rage, weep (ahem…ugly cry) and sometimes raise emotional walls that even you can’t get through. Your schedule was completely upended and you didn’t get to spend much time with me while Nanny was in the hospital and while we were planning her service.

In addition, your mama has been fighting unrelenting health issues and Daddy’s building project at Hootin’ Holler came to a standstill (yes, there is a reason I kick the backhoe every time I get near it). All of this has to be unnerving – our home has not been the nurturing, safe haven I so desperately strive to provide for you.

But I am proud of the amazingly resilient little man you’ve become.

You and your forcefully full-of-awesome personality compelled us to be festive through the holidays. It was such a blessing to have to work toward your excitement about Christmas, decorations, presents, gingerbread houses, and yes, your Elf on the Shelf. You got to spend time with Big Monkey, Auntie C, Super Kate and Austintacious. You helped run the Christmas Tree Farm and were Papa Bear’s little buddy. You brought the Christmas spirit to us and you owned it. And we love you all the more for it.

Thank you, sweet boy.

For Christmas, we got you a kitten. And then we felt so bad for taking the kitten from its litter mates that we adopted its brother. We are now the proud (and somewhat stressed out) owners of Stumpy and Jax, who are adorable, friendly and completely insane. They fit this family perfectly. You love them both so ferociously that I question their ability to survive you. You bathe with them, rub their face on them, pet them into the ground and sometimes I catch you lying on them. We had to create a new rule stating that whatever you do to the cats, we can do to you. You don’t like this rule.

Quotes from recent months:

- “Whatevs” peppers your conversation like a thirteen-year-old girl.

- “40,000” or “40 pounds” That’s what time it is. Always.

- “Do tigers live under our house, too? Why do we only get ants?” Tigers would be cooler than ants, but also a tad imposing.

- “I can’t grow up anymore. I’m stuck. I’ve grown up so fast and I DON’T want to pop.” Valid concern, kiddo.

- “Can you get a penis at the penis store? I want you to be the same as Daddy and me.” This is still a NO.

- “I’m just choking.” Said whenever you’re joking.

- “You’re my sweet girl and I’m Spider Man and I’ll keep you safe.” Said after I asked you to keep an eye out for deer while we were driving home from Papa Bear’s house.

- “Papa Bear is the coolest guy in the whole world.” You know what you like…and you like Papa Bear. You also pathetically cry out for him whenever you’re in trouble. You know he’ll always be on your side.

- “He smells so yummy. I want to eat him up in my tummy like he’s dinner. He’s yummers in my tummers. He’s also my best friend.” About Jax, who mostly smells like the litter box.

- “Mama, you have two options…” You’re constantly giving me “two options”, neither of which I like. Which is probably how you feel all the time.

- “I don’t like Alfie.” Referring to your Elf on the Shelf who tells Santa when you’re naughty or nice. Apparently, you aren’t keen on that sort of accountability.

- “He’s just telling me he loves me. That’s all.” Referring to the cat’s mewling when you’re squishing him.

I’ve become proficient at picking locks. You like to lock yourself in Mama and Daddy’s room and DESTROY it. You take all the hangers out of the closet, throw dirty laundry and garbage all over the floor, and throw all of the books and magazines on the bed. The worst part is that you usually lock the cats in the room with you. And you scare them. You scare the poop out of them.

Dude, you made one of them poop in my bed. Not that you haven’t done that yourself.

Roper, it’s been a crazy several months. You learned to ski!! I threw out my shoulder with my overenthusiastic fist pumping just now. You rode the trolley. We made many, many loops around town that day. Hanne visited us from Denmark. You went trick-or-treating and participated in Turkey on the Run. We found out that you are MUCH better at preschool than I am. Seriously, if you don’t graduate from high school it will be because I couldn’t read the instruction correctly, or you were in jail at the time. Equally likely.

You went through a phase of BAing me in public. While wrestling with Daddy and me, you pulled a steak knife. You like to wake me up by throwing things at my head. One time I hid behind the staircase and shouted “boo!” as you came around the corner. You punched me in the nose. Roper, you have unbelievable instinct and an ability to sense weakness and attack. You give your mama hell. Your focus, willfulness and tenacity will serve you well in the future. Right now, it just exhausts me.

But underneath your quick reflexes and unparalleled stubbornness is the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. Your capacity to love people and animals, so wholly and fully, amazes me. We could all learn from you. Little Bear, I love you with a ferocity and depth that takes my breath away. If someone told me on that first day I was finally allowed to hold you (hooked to all those machines and looking like the tough little guy that you are) that I could ever love you more than at that moment, I wouldn’t have believed them. But I do. I love you to the moon and back, times infinity. And then a little more each and every new day.

Love,

Your Mama

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October 3, 2012 · 3:46 pm

37 Prime (yeah!) Months

Dear Roper,

You are now thirty-seven months old. As usual, you have kept us on our toes. So has Mother Nature – our beautiful valley has been on fire for most of this month. The day before the fires started (from a stunning lightning storm) we all went biking on the Sage Hills trails. It was the first time all three of us were on wheels together and you, my dear, rocked it. Two days later, we could see walls of flames sweeping across those very hills. Tragically beautiful. You’ve been very worried about “your” trails ever since.

With the fires came smoke, and with the smoke came extremely hazardous air quality. This meant no outside play. For the record, I think it’s FAR more dangerous to have the two of us locked up in the house together for days on end than to be outside in the smoke. Tempers were short. When you get mad you literally throw yourself against the wall, belly flop on the floor, hit, kick, throw, scream, and rage about. It’s something to behold. My tantrums look pretty similar, but I have a tad more flair.

Don’t worry, it comes with experience. I’ve got a few years on you.

The silver lining to the fires and poor air quality (aside from your apparent albuterol highs) is that we got to take some pretty fun trips together in search of clean air. You’re great company on a road trip. You “read” your books for long periods of time, you have an eagle eye for spotting interesting things along the way, and you make up wildly hilarious songs.

Boo and Heeed were the first to take us in (after I promised to teach you that cops are bigger heroes than firefighters). You loved playing with the dogs and riding on the lawnmower. We even got to watch pumpkin chunkin with trebuchets and visit the reptile zoo. In a word, AWESOME. I love listening to you and Boo talk about anything and everything. Watching you work your way into the Big Man chair to nestle under Heeed’s arm reminded me that you’re still a little guy under all of that big boy bravado.

After a few days back in the smoke we drove over the passes again to stay with Ang and your three “cuzzies” for a couple of days. You love being around those kids. So much so, that I almost feel bad for not providing you with siblings. AND THEN I REGAIN MY SANITY. You harassed the girls, and tried to sleep in their room. You and Hawkeye had jumping contests and played with cars. You all sprawled on the couch like a pile of puppies. Little Bear, you thrived in the chaos. But you didn’t sleep. At all.

I’m still holding a grudge – consider yourself warned.

From there, we rented an old farmhouse with Erin, Justin and baby Liam. Your dad was able to join us for the weekend and we relished every moment! The house was on a working farm and you fed the calves, pigs and sheep. Sheer delight. We visited (and were kicked out of) a pumpkin patch. T-bird paid us a surprise visit. The whole weekend was beautiful, relaxing, and full of clean air. Our lungs sung! On the way home we took you mountain biking and you impressed us with your enthusiasm and moxie. Your skills will surpass mine far too fast.

Roper, you are a VERBAL NINJA. You’ve learned that you can stop us in our tracks, make us laugh, and yes, stab us right in our hearts with just your words. The power! You play and experiment with language and rhyme. I have to admit that the writer in me is stoked - even when you’re using your words for evil - because dude, you have mad craft for a little guy.

Some of my favorite quotes from this month:

- After being reprimanded for deliberately and defiantly coughing right in our faces. “My heart grew so big that it blew out of my mouth.” I have to give you points for creativity on that one.

- Out of the blue, while we were at Boo’s house. “Mama, why don’t you trade in your vagina and get a penis so you can be like daddy and me?” So. Many. Reasons.

- Screamed from the back of the car. “I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, and I’m FRAGILE!” Me too. Only now I have a 38-inch-tall tyrant screaming at me from the back seat. NOT HELPING.

- To Erin, when we were staying at the farmhouse: “I’m growing up right now. Like a little flower.” Most kids grow like a weed. You grow like a flower. If you didn’t sweat straight testosterone, I would read more meaning into this.

- Near Stevens Pass, while we let you steer the car by yourself on a back road. “I need some MUSIC!” Because driving a car isn’t enough for you, you need a soundtrack. Incidentally, this activity isn’t recommended for three-year-olds. But it was safer than it sounds. Stop judging. STOP.

- When I tried to get you to eat the gummy bear in your hand so you could continue biking: “You carry your friend in your belly. That’s not very nice – he can’t see in there. I want to carry my friend in my hand so he can see.” I will carry all of your friends in my belly if you don’t watch it.

You will repeat high-fives until you get a satisfactory slap, you love riding your bike after dark with a headlamp, and you dress up as Superman to run errands. You sound like a maniac when you laugh and you’re always up for an adventure – which is good because I’m always planning one.

You were on the cover of the Wenatchee World again. I think it’s safe to say you’re a media whore – I might start renting you out. Little Bear, there is something about you that captures and engages people. I always tell friends you’ll either end up famous or infamous, we’re not sure which. I won’t lie; you are a difficult child to raise. You’re smart, stubborn, destructive, manipulative and FAST. But you make up for all of that in spades with your giant heart, sweet disposition, quirky sense of humor and complete-party-package personality.

You bring light and laughter to so many people and I only hope that we reflect it back to you. I love you Little Bear. To the moon and back, times infinity.

Love,

Your Mama

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September 9, 2012 · 4:56 pm

OMG, He’s THREE!

Dear Roper,

Congratulations – you just completed your third trip around the sun! You are now 36 months old. (Editor’s note: you’re now 36 months AND A WEEK …. your mama is a slacker) You have brought so much joy, laughter and love into our lives. But it’s been a wild ride. Possibly three of the craziest years of my life. Not just because of you – although you’ve added your share of crazy – but because we’ve had so many other big things going on in our lives. Like building a house, dealing with major health issues, and trying to keep our marriage from derailing in the chaos.

Through all of the bumps and hiccups along the way YOU help keep us on target. Having you in our lives reminds us to look beyond ourselves and remember what’s important. The other day, after your dad said “no” to one of your many requests, you came and asked me the same question. I said no as well and you asked, “Why you say no, too? Why are you and Daddy a team?” That’s right, your dad and I are on the same team. And we’re ready to paint our faces and wave foam fingers if that’s what it takes to win.

Some days I view raising you as an extreme sport. You, my sweet, sweet boy, can be quite a handful. You are smart, strong-willed and wild. We can’t tire you out. We take you for miles-long bike rides or hikes, and you will come home even more energetic. At times, you appear to be vibrating with excess energy and personality. And then you bust out dance moves, air punches and somersaults. Yes, even in the tub.

You speak like a five-year-old. From the backseat you will ask, “Why are there so many bad drivers?” You wander upstairs and say, “I just came up to see if you need any help.” When your dad physically removes you from whatever destruction you were dispensing you howl, “Ohhhhhh, my poor little heart! My poor little heart!” When you’re done with a breathing treatment (which you run yourself) you give a big sigh and say “Phew! THAT was hard work.”

You also speak like the newly minted three-year-old that you are with your, “I toot-toot on your face! HAHAHA!” and your, “Macaroni, applesauce, poopy diaper! Haaaaa! Did you hear that? Poopy diaper! That’s FUNNY!” And then you do a little dance where you stick out your bum-bum out and shake it while pointing at it.

THAT. That’s why we don’t take you out in public as often these days.

Little Bear, you have put the smackdown on several big milestones in the last month. You’re now fully potty trained – you don’t even wear a pull-up at night! The first night we decided to let you go commando, we weren’t really thinking. You had dinner at your Oma and Opa’s house where you proceeded to drink seventeen liters of juice while I wasn’t looking. Yikes. You woke up in the middle of the night and proceeded to complete an obstacle course (in pitch dark) that would make the Warrior Dash look tame. When you finally reached the bathroom, you couldn’t reach the light. You came into our bedroom, flicked on our light and stood there starting at us with the intensity of a man who had given his all to climb a mountain, only to realize it was a false summit.

Dude. You’re a camel. We could see how desperate you were by the look in your eyes, but also by the little trail of dribbles that marked your earlier path. When we finally got you on the toilet you peed for approximately twenty-seven minutes. Bravo, my man. BRAVO. You have gone commando every night since without any accidents.

You gave up your binky! You were given your first binky when you were less than a day old and putting in your time in the NICU. We spent the next two years trying to get you to go without it for two minutes so we could take a picture of you without that thing stuffed in your face. Eventually, we were able to get you to only use it while sleeping…and then we started cutting them. You alternated between thinking this was a cool “big boy” thing, and thinking we were trying to snuff out your will to live. For months we talked about how three-year-olds don’t use binkies. Apparently that worked because you gave them up for good a few days before your birthday. Did I mention that three-year-olds also clean toilets? No? Well, they do.

You quit taking naps. Also known as Your Worst Idea Ever. You’ll take a nap for anyone except me. Do you have a death wish, SON? I have explained to you many times over that I am an unlikely mom and need a little of my own time when I can work, use my brain, and engage in the world. Do. Not. Take. This. From. Me. I think we’ve come to an agreement about you taking a little afternoon quiet time in your room…sometimes you accidentally fall asleep. And I strut around the house beating my chest and shouting “THAT. JUST. HAPPENED!” Except I don’t shout because I don’t want to wake you. I just mouth the words with exaggerated emphasis.

You started a new preschool. We camped at the property. You had a weekend with Papa and Nanny. You went to Hood Canal with the whole herd of Steere (minus your mama and daddy because we were visiting the happiest place on earth – Whistler Bike Park). You spent a fun-filled day down at Crescent Bar. You caught another fish and collected more cars. You were celebrated by both sides of your family on your birthday – you are so loved!

It’s been an adventure, Little Boy – the past month, the past year, the whole ride. And I would not trade in one single moment. Yes, I complain about your stubbornness and poke fun at your temper, but I would much rather have a spirited child than a passive child. I love you when you’re furious and manipulative, and when you’re sweet and hilarious. I love every bit of you from your fuzzy white-blond hair down to your adorably filthy toes. I love you ALWAYS. And that will never change.

I’m so blessed and honored to be your mama, Little Bear. I can’t wait to see what the next year brings – what you’ll learn and what you’ll teach us. I think about your future and can’t help but smile. Thank you for bringing all of your joy, energy and upheaval into our lives. And for putting up with our cuddles and kisses when you really just want to PLAY.

Love,

Your Mama

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July 3, 2012 · 8:26 pm

Thirty-four and NOT a bore

Dear Roper,

Sweet boy. You are a little shoehorn, stretching my heart more and more each day. You remind me of what is important in life. You also remind me that I should never use salty language in front of you because you will repeat that choice phrase – verbatim and at peak volume – while tearing around the grocery store.

I’m sorry for hiding in the ice cream aisle and pretending you were not mine.

You had a big month, buckaroo. Your Papa Bear and Nanny took you to a fishing derby and you caught a 5.5lb trout! I would show you a picture, but your grandparents DON’T BELIEVE IN CAMERAS. However, we did get to eat the trout. It was trout-y.

You also went to the theater to watch Madagascar 3 on the big screen and you were completely and adorably enamored. Personally, I enjoyed the fact that you’re too small for the seat and it kept folding up and trying to eat you. And guess what? I (gasp!) bought you a DVD. I thought it was time you saw the movie Cars since you’re so enamored with Lightning McQueen and Tow Mater on your underpants. I don’t normally let you watch much, but I kind of have a crush on Tow Mater, too.

Dude. DUDE. You are bursting at the seams with personality. We will be walking through a store and you will spontaneously do a running-start somersault in the middle of the aisle. First off….AWESOME! Also, OUCH. Those floors are hard. But it doesn’t faze you.

Not much fazes you.

With the help of a little life jacket-y thingy, you learned to swim the length of the pool. You are an enthusiastic little water baby. (Ahem…I meant Big Boy. You graduated into pre-school this week. Mama’s still a little sad about that) Actually, you’re pretty adamant that you HATE water until we coax you into it. And then you never, ever, EVER want to get out again. Because you’re too busy drinking the water.

Little Bear, you add so much joy to our lives that sometimes I’m sad that you’ll be my only baby. But then I remember that you went to the top of the McDonald’s play structure (and we all know that Mama hates that play structure) and pooped yourself silly. You were too mortified to move so I had to crawl up there, on my poor decrepit knees, and rescue you.

It was hard to maintain dignity while hauling you out of there, but sweetie, I would do it again. It broke my heart to see you upset and stuck. Obviously, that doesn’t stop me from sharing that event with the world. Is now a good time to remind you that we replaced the college fund with a therapy fund?

Your dad went on his big motorcycle ride with the guys this month and I made it my goal to have as much quality, fun time with YOU as possible. And Little Bear, we missed Daddy but we had a blast! You’re always good company. You make me laugh, you make me think, and you challenge me to grow every day. You also challenge my patience.

I love you, Roper. Today, more than yesterday. Tomorrow, more than today.

Love,

Your Mama

P.S. You remind me of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes

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June 3, 2012 · 2:44 pm

33 Months!

Little Bear,

As of yesterday, you are a happy, healthy thirty-three-month-old. 33! Pause and soak that in for a second. We might be slightly unconventional parents, but we are having a blast and you are thriving. I really couldn’t ask for more.

However, at the moment I’m still recovering from your post-church, pre-nap fit. In a word, it was impressive. You really left it all on the stage, kiddo. BRAVO. So instead of sitting inside writing you a long monthly letter, I’d like to go play outside with you and laugh off our frustrations. What do you say? In the meantime, I’ll give you some bullet points and pictures.

The condensed version of the last month is that we had a ridiculous amount of fun. Also, your family (immediate and extended) is CRAZY. Just keep that in mind throughout your life and the rest of the world will make sense.

Highlights:

You now wear underpants. Pretty much the awesomest thing ever. Nice work, buckaroo.
You sometimes still brandish your penis as a weapon and pee all over the house. Not as cool.
I often get to hear you say “I would like more salad please.” This sentence makes me one of the happiest moms around. Polite. Veggie-loving. *swoon*
You LOVE camping. To the extent that we put a tent in your room to sleep in.
You and I road tripped to Spokane to do the Bloomsday 8k with a posse of your cousins. Loud crowded fun!
You love every one of your cousins with enthusiasm and fierce adoration. Memorial day was a slice of heaven for you.
The other night, the neighbor kids were outside playing and you called from your bed “Help me, Mama. I need my earplugs!” For the record, you don’t have earplugs. But you constantly make me laugh.
You’re OCD. You line up all of our shoes, straighten rugs, and can’t move until the Velcro straps of your shoes are absolutely, precisely perfect. This does not come from my side of the family.

Little Bear, you are a busy, creative, exuberant, filthy, hilarious, tender-hearted boy who happens to be wicked smart. There is no relaxation when you’re around, but there’s almost always laughter. You’re not short on personality. This month we celebrated Mother’s Day and I’m so grateful for, and humbled by, the opportunity to be your mama. My life is much bigger and better for it. I love you, sweet boy.

Love,

Your Mama

You and Dexter (and the rest of the cousins!) had a blast on Bloomsday weekend.

You love driving the tractor

Mother’s day – I’m so proud to be your mama!

Terrorizing the neighborhood with Opa. You have a beautiful bond with all of your grandparents!

Lots of splashing in the water over Memorial Day weekend!

You are never without a truck. Or five.

Eating watermelon with Colter and Milo.

Ragin’ the Sage!

32 Months of Crazy up in Here!

Little Bear,

Good grief, kid! Do you ever stop talking, flirting, destructing, licking, kicking, or laughing maniacally? In a word, you are VIGOROUS. You play vigorously, you eat vigorously, you hug vigorously, and I swear you even make sleeping look like a full-contact sport.

You are now 32 months old, and 32 forms of awesomeness.

This past month has been C-R-A-Z-Y. We went skiing. We went logging. You were in the world-famous Swallowfest parade. We decorated Easter eggs, got all fancy for Easter service and participated in a couple of egg hunts. You went mountain biking for the first time. You started some serious potty training (Yay! I get to talk about pee and poop on my blog! Who am I kidding? I always talk about that sort of thing. BOOBIES!!)

The month got even crazier from there. On our way home from your Papa Bear and Nanny’s house, we hit a deer. No one was hurt, but it totaled the car. Now, when we get in the car you keep saying, “Deer should stay off the road. Deer stay in the DIRT!” And I totally agree. Hey deer, for the love of all things good…please stay in the dirt!

A few days later, your dad went down on his motorcycle. Again, we were very blessed, and he was ok. It was a good wake-up call for all of us. I was thinking Daddy was all magical and stuff for having never gone down in his many, many years of riding. It happens. This is why we wear helmets, SON. So quit whining and put on the proper gear when you ride your bike.

That same day, we bought a new car and the next day your daddy and I left for Mexico on a dive trip. PHEW! On the road to relaxation. Except…your mama has some anxiety issues. And leaving you behind for a week just about did me in.

Little Bear, you OWN me.

I feel naked when you’re not with me, and there’s an ache in my heart. Don’t get me wrong, we still had a blast. But we were constantly thinking about you, talking about you, showing everyone pictures and videos of you until they threatened to throw my camera in the ocean.

Your dad and I – two painfully frugal people – paid $5/minute to call you from Mexico. MORE THAN ONCE. Dude, if that isn’t a show of Crazy Love, nothin’ is ;)

When you say things like “Look at the beautiful trees, Mama. I just want to HUG them,” I feel like I have won in the game of life. When we get to daycare earlier than usual, and there isn’t the usual fanfare of tiny friends hugging you, helping you with your coat and shouting “Wopah’s here! Wopah’s here!” you look at me questioningly, and ask “Where my kids?” as if you’re The Fonz. It makes me laugh. I can give you a topic and you will make up a song about it. When I call you dude, or buddy, you say “No. I’m Mama’s BABY!” It melts my heart to hear that coming from my stretched out, skinned kneed, constantly growing boy.

You will always be my baby.

Little Bear, you make every day an adventure and you keep me my toes by switching back and forth between a sweet little dimpled cherub to a midget terrorist at record speed. There are very few things that make me happier than hearing you say “I love you, mama” in your sweet little voice, or hearing your laugh when I’m tickling or teasing you. You are the salve to my frazzled nerves. Which is weird because you’re also the cause of those frazzled nerves…but I wouldn’t trade that for anything.