Here we are at the 3.5 year mark. Which means that in only 6 more months you will be 4. FOUR! Four is my favorite age. It's the age I most loved teaching when I taught preschool. I am so ready to fall in love with four again.
This month, you promised to live with me until you are ONE HUNDRED!, which is actually a little longer than I had hoped, but I haven't told you that yet. I'm happy that it's going to be at least a few more years though.
As fun and happy and generally pleasant to be around as you are, you are also a contrarian. For example, for the past few weeks, you tell everyone "Good Morning!" as you go to bed, and you substitute other opposites when you can. You have made your dad and I vow many times to NOT teach your sister opposites.
You're trying to figure out numbers and measurements so each night, you end the day by telling me you "had 100 feet fun" with me today. I'm assuming from the enthusiasm that it means you had a good day. You will also tell me that you want to go to bed at 6:00 instead of 8:00 or that you prefer to nap at 4:00 instead of 2:00 and clearly, you are just naming random times without much thought to whether they come before or after the appointed time.
You never complain about going to school, and seem to look forward to it, but I know remarkably little about what happens there. At some point early on, you decided it was funny to tell me "there were no teachers and no children at school today, only me" and you have kept this story up. Occasionally you will add elements like "my father forgot to take me to school today so I had to walk there all by myself".
You pick up everything, so now not only have I given up NPR when you're in the car, I can no longer talk obtusely to your dad about things that affect you because you always seem to pick up on exactly what I'm talking about. For example, your Aunt Linda called and you heard me say "Oh, Linda, I'm so sorry" and you looked up and asked "did Sarah die?" and yes, Sarah did just die, but how the heck did you figure that out? Your dad and I were stunned, as was your grandmother, and when Aunt Linda reads this I'm sure she'll be stunned too.
You refer to your dad as "my father" when you're not talking directly to him, and if you need to get my attention, you shout "Elaine", just like your dad does. You also occasionally call me "honey" as in "hey honey, can you get me some drinkable yogurt?". It's hard not to laugh when you do this. At one point on vacation, you said to your grandpa "Dick, could you pass me the 'trawberries?". I don't think you ever called my parents by their first names, but perhaps I just missed it.
While on vacation, you went skiing. And I hate to admit it, but so long as you stay interested, I suspect you'll be a better skier than me by the time you're in the third grade - and it might not take that long. By the end of our vacation, you could turn a bit on your own, and you were fully prepared to ski to the bottom with no help, but since you cannot yet stop, we decided not to let skiing downhill with no one to catch you come to pass.
You are remarkably protective of Helen, and your dad and I both appreciate that. It's not suprising for us to be involved in some task and her you shout "Helen, don't do that" and then we'll look up and Helen will guiltily spit out a bead she's been holding in her mouth. You will also put her in a full-body hug if she gets near the stairs without your dad or I there, just to make sure she's can't ascend them. She is not so appreciative of this maneuver, but I am.
You're been really into creating rhythmic verses which is always interesting. You start with a couple of stanzas, say them a few times, and then come up with a clever rhyme that makes sense.
We've been gearing up to get the greenhouse ready. You are a champ at moving dirt from one pot to another, which if not always useful, is at least entertaining.
We're in a lovely groove, Connor, and everyone has been enjoying it.