Saturday, April 12, 2008

Happy 32 months

Dear Connor,

Tomorrow, you turn 32 months old. I am writing this now because there is a very real chance I will be celebrating the occasion by checking myself into an insane asylum. You see, a few months ago, I was thinking about our summer travel, and how we always go to Kansas at some point without your dad to see your Kansas relatives. I booked our flight, and I don't think it really occurred to me how difficult a flight with two children under the age of 3 could be. But, I will know tomorrow.

The really big thing throwing a monkey wrench into all of this, and making me somewhat terrified of the thought of flying with you and your sister alone is that you now use the toilet, rather than a diaper. And yes, Connor, this is the number one huge accomplishment of the month. I would say your dad and I "potty trained" you, but that implies we actually did something. What really happened is I got tired of arguing with you about whether or not you had a wet diaper. So, I told you on Wednesday that Friday after school we were tossing your diaper in the trash and switching to underwear. Friday, you were none too pleased, so I gave you a one day reprieve from the dreaded underwear. But on Saturday, I wrestled you into underwear, told you to keep them dry, and you know what? You failed to pee in the toilet twice that day, but the next day? You kept those brand new train underwear clean and dry. Most importantly, we have had no arguments about whether or not a diaper needs to be changed.

You do use the whole potty thing to your advantage at bedtime. Tonight, you weren't quite ready for bed, but you know a request to use the potty will never be refused. After the third time, Daddy asked you if you really had to go and you told him you were fibbing - which I guess means you understand a lot more about manipulating us than we care to acknowledge.

Anyway, as I was patting myself on the back for forcing you into underwear, it hit me that I will somehow have to figure out how to maneuver into a bathroom on an airplane with you and Helen, since there will be no one to hand Helen off to. PLUS - stupid George Bush won't let anyone stand up within 30 minutes of National airport (our home airport) which means you may have to "hold it" for quite some time. I swear, if you pee your pants on the airplane because of some ridiculous rule forbidding you to go to the bathroom within a half hour of National airport, I will mail those soiled underwear straight to the White House.

Showing that you are never too young to mock someone's accent, you came up to me this month and asked why our au pair (who is from Thailand) said "Rubber Run" instead of "Lubber Run". I told you it was the same reason you said 'nakes instead of snakes, and you looked at me very confused.

And you know what, Connor? I hope you keep saying 'nakes and you keep 'queezing into 'mall 'paces for a long time.

One unique feature about your language usage is that you rarely use a word or phrase unless you are confident you are using it correctly. It seems as if you have mastered some of the phrases you hear me say regularly. For example, we were looking at the phone book one day and you exclaimed "Oh my lord there's a lot of trucks on this page" and I looked down, and there were a lot of trucks on that page, so I just said "wow". Later that day, you shreiked "oh my god, a red hat is going down the stairs" when a red baseball cap got dropped. Your dad and I both laughed.

At one point, you came up to me and said "why did Daddy ask me not to ask why so much?". And part of me wanted to go kick your dad because asking why is very important. But another part of me - the part that hears you ask me why no fewer than 3,867 times each day - wanted to tell you "because it's so freakin' annoying!". But instead I said, "I don't know, Connor, maybe you should ask your daddy", which you did, and it was awesome seeing the smoke roll out of his ears.

You have always been a very empathetic child, and never was this more true than the morning we headed out to the kite festival. Your dad balanced his coffee precariously on the car, and it plummeted to its death while he said a few not so choice words, which in turn scared the pants off you. I suspect you thought the mess had something to do with you - which in most cases is a very good guess - and you burst into tears. Your dad explained that he was not mad at you, and that it was totally his fault, and I tried to explain that "see, Connor, everyone spills and breaks things sometimes" but dude, you were nearly inconsolable. And, when asked what was wrong you sobbed "I want Daddy to get a new cup of coffee". Either you knew he wanted it, or your dad thought maybe you knew he could be a real jerk in the morning without it.

I wish I wrote down every time you made me laugh this month, Connor. It was a good one.


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