Happy 50 months, Connor!

Dear Connor,

Yesterday, you turned 50 months. And you are so much like your father that sometimes I want to hug you because I absolutely adore you, and other times I want to kick you because you make me completely insane. Take, for example, our recent trip to the zoo. You wanted to push Helen in the stroller - sweet. Then you wanted to push her with the front wheels up so you could see better, like the way she pushes the stroller when there are no occupants. Fair enough, except that I understand gravity better than you apparently do, so I very clearly told you "DO NOT TIP THAT STROLLER BACK WHEN HELEN IS IN IT BECAUSE IT WILL FALL", but just like your dad would do, you tipped it back. And it fell. And Helen's head hit the ground. Why is this like your father? Because he typically assumes that his ability to generalize from one experience to the next is superior to advice someone will give him. And unfortunately, he is so often correct that it is just a self-reinforcing trait. You're the same way.



When your dad and I were dating, I used to take him to shows at the Kennedy Center or Broadway regularly. Except for Stomp, I could pretty much predict your dad's review "about an hour too long". Last Sunday, you, Helen, and I went to "Go Dog Go!" at Adventure Theatre and true, it was the longest show we've been to. But I was still a little surprised when we walked out and you said "that show was a little too long". And I thought you were going to be my theatre-going buddy. I think partly you were disappointed because you saw the advertisement for "The Little Engine That Could" and you were hoping we were seeing that - but that show is not for another month.



You've been a really happy little dude this month because there are so many projects going on, that pretty much anytime you want you can join one. Sometimes, you're even helpful!



School wears you out, which makes for long naps in the afternoon. You're so busy taking everything in, flitting from one activity to the next - always happy when Mr. Kinnicutt lets you work on one of his projects. Apparently Sam has adopted you as a little brother. The two of you share a cubby, and apparently he spends his day showing you the ropes of the Oak Tree class. This was pretty funny news to me, since your comments about Sam are almost always "Sam got in trouble at school again today. He broke another window." I'm not sure if he ever broke one window, and I'm certain Mr. Kinnicutt would not actually get mad if he did (where do Kindergarten teachers get their patience, anyway?), but for whatever reason, Sam is naughty in your mind, and you are completely attracted to him. I suspect you like hanging out with someone so much bigger than you because at home, you are solidly the leader. Having someone to follow around must be quite a relief.

You were the poster child of a perfect grandchild when your grandparents came to visit for a week. Even though I did not prompt you at all, you asked your Grandma to please not leave and you told them you wanted them to come back and stay with us forever. I'd like that too, Connor, but only a lot of pleading from you could make it happen. Good luck.



You spent a few days being sick, and you make the perfect patient. You don't really complain that much, you just go and lie down. Apparently you fear being given the wrong medicine because you always tell us when we tell you that it's time for medicine whether it's time for Tylenol or Motrin. Thankfully, you like them both. It was a pretty persistent fever, and you clearly felt awful, but you did your best to sleep it off and keep yourself hydrated. You didn't even want the radio playing much because you found it too distracting. It earned you a few nights in my bed, with me up in yours. When you're really sick, Daddy reports you sleep like a rock. When you're starting to feel better, you like to try and shove him off the bed with your persistent moves closer to him. That's the sign that it's time for you to move back upstairs.



There is one thing this month that I have really learned to appreciate about you. While you might express affirmative preferences for clothing (yellow and rainbow are good), you have never refused to wear something. This is in stark contrast to your sister who thinks anything that is neither pink nor purple is unsuitable. I appreciate your response to clothing.



Fall is here, and with that comes a trip to the farm. You chose the biggest pumpkin you could find, and I can't wait to carve it and eat all the seeds! It's so big, that your dad has to carry it around!

You have become my very sensitive child, keenly aware of the feelings of others around you. You've always been compassionate beyond your years, but I really notice now how you want to be a positive force. Your dad and I are so lucky to have you.

Love,
Mommy