You are my charming sweetheart who loves bright patterns and pink. Your sense of style remains unmatched in this house, and it's a rare occasion that you do not express an opinion about what you are wearing, what you are doing, or what you are planning. In other words, you still talk non-stop.
Unfortunately for me, a lot of what you seem to be saying is "NO!", "I don't care" and other bad-attitude related phrases. But of course, when you say "I don't care" it often is just a defensive maneuver and you really do care. For example, when I said "come get your hair combed so you can ride on the boat". You respond "NO! I don't care about the boat". So I said, "OK, you don't have to go on the boat", and you sobbed. Because, still, you can turn on the tears in a New York City minute.
Most of the time though, you still use your smile to brighten a room. And oh my, your hair is getting curlier by the day and you hear how cute you are approximately as many times as you meet someone new or someone sees you for the first time in a while. You've got a good combination going.
You love to run beside the car or bike when your dad or I head off to work, shouting "bye bye Mommy / Daddy" until we reach the stop sign and must turn. Every day I think you're going to trip and tumble, but so far, it's nothing but smiles. You also like to tuck a toy into our office bags, and let us know we should show everyone else in our offices. Lucky parents, we are.
You have become quite the finger knitter, and can entertain yourself for a fair amount of time as you create new things. If your dog needs a leash and you can't find one of the million scarves or ribbons in your possession, you simply make a new one with yarn! Crafty, my dear. Someday, maybe we can knit socks together as you tell me about how college is going for you.
In a few weeks, you'll begin going to school by yourself three mornings a week. You could not be more thrilled about this adventure. It's a little sad that Connor won't be there, so the two of you could see each other on the playground occasionally. As other moms ask me nervously about the first day of school, I can tell them that I'm really happy for you. You are ready to go, you are going to the best place I could imagine sending you, and I'll be surprised if you don't fall in love immediately.
You still love babies. You tend to care for one and drag it around everywhere you go, and then will all of a sudden fall in love with a different one. You've got a lot of love to give. You fall in love fast with people, too.
You have proven yourself to be quite the daredevil. We've gone to three amusement parks this summer - Busch Garden in Williamsburg, VA, Worlds of Fun in Kansas City, MO, and The Great Escape, which is somewhere in upstate, NY. You loved every one of them, and accompanied your dad on as many thrilling rides as you could find. The Scrambler was a favorite at all of the parks. If you're tall enough to go on it, you want to go on it. This is one of few times where being short truly is a disadvantage. I remember going to Worlds of Fun year after year, only to be denied entrance to the bumper cars. Devastating, it was. Each year, I'd stretch as tall as I could, and my mom would have this look in her eye almost pleading with the attendant to please, please, please let me ride, but that damn height requirement was firm. I imagine you and I will be performing the same ritual. Bummer. Total Bummer. But there are also a million ways that being short is an advantage, and I assure you, they'll be more meaningful to you in the long run.
Oh, if everyone had your vocabulary, they'd be a lot more interesting to talk with. I adore it. Your way of picking up words differs from Connor's method. He typically waits to hear a word used a few times, and then will use it in context when he's got it figured out. Whenever you hear a word you don't know, you immediately demand to know its meaning.
While on vacation, your grandmother and everyone else got to see your saddest moment ever. We were preparing to go get ice cream and you were mad at me for asking you to put your shoes on. I turned back to the dresser to find socks for Connor, and you snuck up behind me and whacked me on the bottom. Now, it certainly didn't hurt, and I could've just laughed it off, but I'm firm on my no hitting Mommy policy, and especially no hitting Mommy out of anger. So, I picked you up and let you know you would not be going for ice cream. Oh, how you howled. And howled. And howled. And every adult in the room could hardly make eye contact with me and you as I kept you firmly affixed to my hip and calmly repeated "you may not hit me". Then, I set you down, and you ran faster than I have ever seen you run, with the singular motivation to get to your daddy. And you beat me out the door, and you sobbed for the only hero who you knew could save you, and you went right for him. I appeared at this point and gave him the look that said "if you do anything except deposit that screaming child back in my arms, we are getting divorced" and so, as hard as it was for him, he gave you back to me. Apparently, your cousins were wide mouthed and wondering what the heck was going on and their mom quipped "sometimes, when someone says no, they mean it". You made one more mad dash, but the cars were gone, and although you assured me you were going to fly to the ice cream store that night, we both knew there would be no ice cream for the evening. We read books of your choosing, we laughed, you cried some more, you fell asleep faster than you've fallen asleep in a long time, hugging me tightly on the teeny-tiny Dora sofa bed that you had propped on your bunk bed and requested I join you in. Before you fell asleep, you did ask whether we could get ice cream tomorrow, and we did. In fact, we went right after lunch because I didn't want to risk you getting tired and being in a bad mood and missing out on ice cream again. You licked up every drop of that delicious chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. And you were my lovely Helen for the remainder of the trip. In fact, you started out the next morning by telling me you were never going to hit me again. You then extended the pledge to being no hitting, biting, punching, nor kicking. Frankly, I had no idea you were planning all those other things. I'm thinking this is temper tantrum number 2, but possibly it's temper tantrum number 3. Definitely, it's a number less than five. Number 1 was also over ice cream.
And since then, Helen, you've been an absolute doll. You're running and skipping and laughing and having so much fun it's infectious. Both your dad and I sit back and think about how lucky we are to have you.
Love,
Mommy
Yes, you and Ed are lucky to have these children. And they are lucky to have you and Ed, my friend.
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