Happy 22 months, Helen

Dear Helen,

Guess what? Your brother turned four and all you got was this lousy late post about your month. And oh, what a month it was. You are your own woman, and you make certain that most people near you know this. You do not like to be told what to do and you are very clear about letting people know this. You also do not like to sit still. The two of these characteristics made for a rather unpleasant flight to Minnesota earlier in the month. So unpleasant, in fact, that at one point Connor looked up at me and said "I wish you had never let Helen come out of your tummy" and it took a lot of restraint for me not to say "me too!". But the plane landed, my friend from second grade - Lisa - met us in baggage claim, and from there, we had a lot of fun. And you were the center of many of those good times. When your dad joined us on the return flight, I told him that you were his, and his alone. And do you know what you did? You napped the entire flight. He now thinks I made up the stories about how rough the flight to MN was, but I assure you, no portion of the stories I told him was fabricated, and I will do you the favor of not recording any more about that flight. But let's just say, when the time comes that I'm drooling on myself and begging you to wipe my chin, I might just say "remember that flight to Minnesota back in 2009? Well you owe me!".



Luckily, you are the most charming person in the world so it is absolutely impossible to be mad at you. Plus, it's not your fault that you are almost two and by necessity, you must explore the world. You must assert yourself. You must make your presence known and be sure not to be pushed around. Believe me, Helen, your will has been made known. And as a coworker pointed out to me, every characteristic you display today (outside of the biting), is something I will be grateful you have when I send you off on your own someday.

You now use sentences to express yourself, you have sorted out "I" and "you" but you still mix up "you" and "me", for the most part. You still hold your arms up and say "carry you, Mommy" though sometimes when I respond something along the lines of "I can't, Helen, I already have full arms" you'll look at Daddy and say "carry me Daddy". You love, love, love to talk on the phone and you call your grandparents regularly from your play phone, or "new phone" as you refer to it. Often, we call them from my phone as well and they absolutely understand you. I can't say you're the most interesting conversationalist yet, but you have your moments. Your vocabulary is rich and probably a half dozen times this past month, another mom has noted that to me. It is impossible for people around you much not to mention how much you talk. Like your brother, Helen, you do not shut up. This can make for some pretty intersting times, but it can also be a bit draining. But I always said if there was one characteristic I wanted in my children it would be that they could talk early. I knew I wanted this because my mom used to point out how much better it was when your Aunt Linda and I were no longer babies and could tell her why we were being irrational, rather than just screaming at her. And I do think she was right.



Once this month, when I put you in your crib for a nap you spent an hour, AN HOUR, talking to yourself up there. You never seemed upset, so I figured I'd keep you in there, because at this point in the day, I needed a break. After an hour, I heard the following "Elaine, Elaine, ELAINE! Come get Helly out of the crib. Helly out of the crib now" and I decided that was good enough for you to get out of jail. So I rescued you and then you proceeded to cook me the most delicious pretend dinner while Connor napped. And it's not often that we get to spend an hour alone, but this hour was quite fun.

You call me by my first name whenever you really want my attention, barking it just like your dad, and it works. I think it's quite funny and as a result, Connor has picked up this habit as well. I suppose it makes sense for us to be on a first name basis. I think it horrifies other moms on the playground when they hear you shout my name, but what do they know?




We visited an actual baby and you were not disappointed. A week after the visit you are still talking about Baby Ari and how you got to hold him by yourself. If you had a vote, I think you would vote for a baby around this house. Unfortunately for you, no committee spots have opened up so you don't get to vote.

You grew taller. My friend Marya pointed out that she thought you looked taller and I was quick to tell her that despite the fact that you eat like a truck driver, you do not grow. Only when I brought you home and measured you next to the trusty cabinet door, you had indeed grown a couple of inches. Way to go, Helen. After all, in two months you'll be heading to the pediatrician's office to record how freakishly small you are, and now you'll be just a little less so. This doesn't really matter since you have the most incredible pediatrician who has never been either surprised or concerned about your small stature. You are, after all, my daughter. But nevertheless, it's nice to see you growing. But my, how that crib is starting to look small.

You love the water and enjoy jumping in from the side of the pool. You often tell me you want to go underwater and you'd like to jump by yourself. Pretty impressive for someone who is not even two yet! You'll also lay on your back while I help you float and kick your little legs around pretending to swim. It's nice that you love the water and are so comfortable in it because it's been over 90 degrees several days this past month and we often head to the pool after dinner. It's the only outside place that seems acceptable most evenings.



You still love to hug people and you have the most beautiful smile. Already, you have a million smiles and a million laughs and I adore every single one of them.

You love your brother, and play with him often. Only sometimes he has a few more rules than you care to follow, and if I'm not around, you've been known to level the playing field by biting him. He does not appreciate this, and even though I swear to you that I get it, it's not acceptable. But the simultaneously great and frustrating thing about you? If I tell you to apologize you say "no". And it doesn't matter how I try to coerce you, you will steadfastly refuse. You would, in fact, prefer to scream about injustice in your crib and be separated from Connor than apologize. One morning, I made the huge mistake of telling you that you wouldn't be allowed to go out with Connor and I on a planned outing if you didn't apologize because I could only take children who got along with each other. Well time was ticking, and we needed to leave, and you still refused to apologize. I finally heard you say "sock", which I convinced Connor was "sorry", only as soon as I said "great, you apologized, let's go", you very clearly said "Helly no sorry to Connor. No say sorry." Point taken, my friend. And honesty is a good policy.



You're almost two, Helen, and I promise we will have cake, if only so I can hear you tell everyone who asks you about the party that there was cake.

Love,
Mommy

Happy 4th Birthday, Connor

Dear Connor,

You have reached the age of four years old and to mark the occasion, I made the requested "rainbow train cake with 100 cars". Except it didn't quite have 100 cars, but it seemed to satisfy the crowd that gathered to mark the occasion.



I am dancing with glee. I have promised your father that this is going to be a completely fabulous year. Because four? I have seen four before up close. About 30 times I have seen four, because that's the age the children in my preschool classes were when I taught preschool oh, so long ago. Long enough ago, in fact, that my first four-year old class is preparing to start grad school and my last class is preparing to start high school. And it most certainly doesn't feel like it has been 18 years since I graduated from high school and started teaching that first preschool class, but indeed, it has been exactly that long. And hopefully I'm not romanticizing my teaching time because wow do I remember those kids as being nothing short of incredible.


And why is it that I love four so much? At four, a child can really communicate complex thoughts, but has little idea when he or she should just shut up, so four year olds end up telling hilarious stories, and they make these incredibly true comments that adults and older kids just don't make, and they do it just because they noticed, not because they're being mean. For example, one day Josie said to me "Miss Elaine, are you aware that your pants do not match your shirt today?" and at that moment, I looked down, and I said "Josie, you have a much better sense of style than me. But are you aware that Mrs. Foster [my boss] called me 10 minutes ago to come and make sure you were being adequately cared for today because the regularly scheduled teacher called in sick? And I was so excited to come in, believe it or not, that I threw on the only clean shirt and pair of pants I had in my apartment just so I could see you? And up until this moment, I was not aware they did not match, but I am now. But if I had waited to come in until I had matching clothes, that wouldn't be until my regularly sheduled workday, and then we wouldn't be able to play today." And I am quite sure that Josie told her mom that night that Miss Elaine did not wear matching clothes to school but that it was all right because she didn't have time to do laundry before she came into work, or something like that.



From those same four year olds, I also heard stories about a parent drinking too much, yelling too loudly, or just not coming home last night. I heard about how cool a parent was when they did something totally outrageous - like fill up a whole roomful of balloons, or make every food item green that day because did you know it was green day, Miss Elaine? Even the pancakes were green, isn't that funny, Miss Elaine? I heard about staying up at night, reading books, and getting to go swimming on Saturday! I even heard about a few times when a mom called a dad a word that most parents of four year olds would not want to be repeated. I heard these and other stories as we played cooperatively on the playground - because four year olds can actually play together really well - as we painted during art time, and as we prepared for our daily rest. I heard them as we walked through the neighborhood, and sometimes I even heard them as a child with a fever curled up in my lap waiting for someone to come pick them up because they were too sick to be at school. You see besides being able to communicate really well and play, at four, kids are still really vulnerable and totally willing to sit and snuggle with a trusted adult, confident that if they snuggle in just a little tighter they will be "all better". I'm really looking forward to hearing about what stories you share with your teacher. You already bust your au pair any time she does anything out of the ordinary or isn't exactly following the rules.

Four years ago, Connor, you made me a mom. Prior to you entering my life I had never slept sitting up in bed with a baby on my chest so that the baby could sleep while fluid drained from their stuffy nose all night long. I never paced the floors, wishing some sort of comfort would come everyone's way for so long that I saw the sun rise. I never sat back and watched a too-small child will his way up a piece of playground equipment that was too big by himself because as a nanny, a babysitter, and teacher, I would've been hovering right behind him, because my first priority was making sure there were no scratches on my watch. But as a parent, I observed this struggle regularly these past few years because I'm more interested in seeing that look of accomplishment on your face and you relishing all the glory that is yours, and yours alone (even if it comes with a few bumps along the way) when you make it to the top all by yourself. We've been through a lot of unchartered territory together, and sometimes I'm sorry that I didn't know how to handle things better the first time around. Really sorry, in fact. But somehow, we muddled through together, and now you are four, and I am breathing a sigh of relief because for one glorious year of our lives together, I have some experience to draw on.

Over the course of these past few years I have learned you like the blue fork, you prefer your waffles not be cut, and the yellow straw is superior to every other. You are my right hand when it comes to putting things away around here, because you understand that it's hard to find toys that aren't put in their proper spot. On our recent vacation, you went upstairs to see my friend Lisa - our host - and asked her why everything wasn't put away. Lisa is not so obsessive as we are, Connor, and her reply was an appropro "Welcome to the dark side, Connor". You adapted to the situation pretty well. You seem to love reminding your father to put things away, and I appreciate all the help I can get.

You are aware enough to sense when it is appropriate to walk on eggshells. A couple of weeks ago, I had decided I was beyond annoyed at a few things around our house and your Dad dared ask what was wrong at the worst possible moment. I don't think I have ever chewed your dad out in front of you like I did that night for not turning lights off and leaving his crap all over the house, but at the end of my diatribe, when I turned to go upstairs to put Helen to bed, you told your dad that he better just read one book tonight and then you should go to sleep right away. I guess you knew he needed some time to get his act together.



You, of course, had a big month leading up to turning 4. For starters, you jumped off the diving board. Many times. In doing so, you scared the pants off of a lot of people (myself included).

You have excellent reasoning skills that you put to use often. For example, your dad and I have expressed to you that we don't really like waking up as early as you do, and you suggested, in return, that perhaps we ought to go to bed earlier. Right you are, my friend.

You still run everywhere you go, and still, your toddler gait is gone. Every time I see you start dashing, I look closely for that wobble but it is gone, gone, gone. So now I look at Helen's little wobble and hope it stays for a long time.



You also never shut up. Never. With your sister talking non-stop as well, the house sounds like a rock concert most days. I have a lot of headaches, but I am reminded almost daily about how great it is that you communicate so well. For the record, I could use a little quiet every now and then - especially when you're just repeating things you've already told me several times. I got it the first time, pal.



You really like to do your own thing, on occasion. I have no idea why, but while we were on vacation, after you finished the hayride with the other children, another child came running by and exclaimed "Connor is so awesome". Let's just say, your father and I were glad that was not followed up with a visit from the tractor driver letting us know you were not so awesome.

You are simultaneously wonderful and a jerk to your sister, which is fair because that's exactly how she treats you. Wonderful, because you regularly include her in your play. A jerk, because that play often comes with fairly restrictive rules about what she can and cannot do. But most of the time, I can leave the two of you alone and know that you are both entertained, and that's really nice. On your birthday, I went to playgroup with you and the two of you hopped on a two-seater tricycle and you pedaled your heart out as she rode on the backseat and it took a long time for the two of you to stop laughing.



So here we go, Connor. We're jumping with both feet into FOUR!

Love,
Mommy

More of a Rules Follower Than We Thought

While at the pool, little tweets surround us - a child is running across the pool deck, big kids are dunking each other, someone brings food into the pool area. Connor always looks up at the lifeguard when he hears this sound, and Ed or I always assure him that everything is fine, someone is probably just running. As we prepared to make our movie, Connor half walked, half skipped up to the board. Not enough to earn a tweet, mind you. He was very excited when it was finally his turn to jump.

Only there was a problem.

Connor had decided to change one element in his jump from the previous day. He decided to wear goggles so that when he started swimming he could see better.

Goggles are not allowed on the diving board. I had no idea. Connor had no idea. Ed knew, but he was in the little pool with Helen.

As Connor mounted the board, he heard the familiar tweet. Only this time, for the first time ever, when Connor looked up, the lifeguard was looking at him and said "no goggles on the diving board" in a very casual tone. Only what Connor heard was something more like "Little kid - you there - the rule breaker. How could you be so stupid as to climb up the diving board with goggles on. That is the most ridiculous thing that has ever been attempted at our pool and you are the only person dumb enough to do such a thing. Go away. Go far away."

And Connor was mortified. He melted. He slumped off the board crying so hard he couldn't form a sentence. He buried his head in my lap and after sobbing for a few seconds, he finally uttered "I want to go home right now". And then he screamed repeatedly, broken up only by his sobbing "I want to go home RIGHT NOW. RIGHT NOW." And at this point, I think every parent in the pool was looking at me, and I'm pretty sure they were probably thinking "You there, with the video camera, don't you know your kid is too little to go off the diving board. Why are you forcing him to do something so terrifying?". I carried Connor to the shallow end of the pool and told him that we weren't leaving because Helen, Daddy, and I still wanted to swim. I offered that he could hang out in a chair if he wanted or that we could go in the shallow end together and look at each other underwater with our goggles on. And then I told him to discuss it with his dad because nothing I was saying was improving the situation.

Ed gave him a hug, and then Connor decided we should look at each other underwater. Only as soon as he looked at me, he started swimming across the pool, and then he saw the diving board and shouted "I want to go off the diving board", and he tossed his goggles, and I dashed for my camera (not sure if I was the runner they were tweeting at or not, but I wasn't going to look back now!). And this is probably the millionth time in the last four years that I have wanted to understand the mood swings of a child, and I also considered adding "manic depressive" to the list of conditions (which currently includes OCD) I should be sure NOT to mention to any school counselors.

And now I present to you, the jump.



When Connor watched the video, he laughed. When he watched the one where you can hear the lifeguard tweet at him (not present here), he asked "where is the part where I'm crying?".

So maybe he just has a feel for adding dramatic flair to movies?

Goal Accomplished and Suicide Attempt

This evening while we were at the pool, Connor decided he was going to go off the diving board. I asked the lifeguard if I could be in the deep end near the board when he went off in case anything went wrong, and she told me this was not allowed. She said that Connor would need to pass the swim test in order to go off the diving board, and that entails swimming 25 meters unassisted and then treading water for a minute. Possibly, Connor could do this, though it would take a L.O.N.G. time to swim across the pool. And afterwards, he would be fairly exhausted (his self-styled stroke is not the most efficient way to traverse the pool), so possibly jumping into the deep end of the pool would not be the smartest of moves.

I relayed the rules to Connor and he said he wanted to try it, so I went over to the lifeguard who was not in a chair watching the pool to let her know that Connor would like to go off the diving board, and I understood this to mean he needed to pass the swim test (even though a year ago a private instructor had cleared him to go). The head lifeguard was nearby and he has seen Connor swimming around all summer. He intervened and told me that Connor did not need to take the test. He said "he really only needs to be able to swim 3 meters. He'll be fine.", and so it was that Connor got to skip the swim test and head to the diving board. I waited on the side while Connor climbed up to the board. I glanced up at the lifeguard to make sure he was aware that a newbie was on the board. As Connor mounted the board, the head lifeguard sauntered over so that he could dive in, just in case things did not go as well as he predicted.

And Connor did it! He jumped in the pool, and swam to the side, and smiled. A really big smile. Some old neighbors of ours who knew it must be his first time off the board congratulated him on the feat.

And the next thing I heard?

"Now it's Helly's turn. Helly want to go off the diving board. Self. Self. Helly's turn now." And there was Helen, toddling to the deep end and then climbing up the diving board ladder. Unfortunately, Helen does not show any sign that she can predict when she is unable to accomplish something Connor can do, so unlike Connor at this age, I could not risk letting her walk the plank, realize she was in over her head, and turn around. Because if Helen walked to the edge of the diving board, you better believe Helen would jump off.

So I took an unhappy Helen to the shallow end and she jumped off the side and practiced floating on her back. I still hold her head when she is "floating" - but since Connor taught himself to float on his back about three weeks ago, Helen is convinced she can float on her back as well. In fact, while we were in Minnesota a week ago, she was rather surprised when she attempted this feat without my hands supporting her head and she ended up on the bottom of the pool rather than floating atop the water.

While I played with Helen, Connor jumped off the board another half dozen times, jumping off at the same time Ed jumped off the board next to the one he used (we had gone off together earlier).

Helen did have fun swimming tonight, but for about 20 minutes after I put her to bed this evening, I heard over the monitor. "Swimming. Helen go swimming. Helly's turn to jump off the diving board. Self. Self." I'm not sure if she was trying to convince herself that she went off the board, plotting to get to the board without being noticed so she can do it on our next trip, or just letting me know the injustice she suffered by virture of being 1 instead of 3.

We actually went to the pool twice today, and after our early afternoon swim, I knew Connor would attempt the diving board the next time he was at the pool (it was closed during our first trip). Unfortunately, I FORGOT MY VIDEO CAMERA so I did not capture the event on film. Connor did agree to help me make a movie of him jumping off the board the next time we went. However, he told me that maybe we should just make a movie of him swimming across the entire pool so that when Helen watched it, she didn't get upset. I thought that was very empathetic of him.

Congratulations, Connor. You've been working up to this for a long time. Connor announced on the ride home that he would like to do a twisting jump off the board next time, but Ed suggested that perhaps he should try from the side of the pool first. Hopefully, Connor will follow this sage advice.

Elaine

Using his height to his advantage

After we returned from the beach the first day, our hotel room was filled with sand. Why? Because no one in my family realized that the Periwinkle Inn came with a lovely outdoor shower that could be used to rinse the sand off before entering one's hotel room. I was grateful that we were at a hotel rather than a rental house since that meant a magical person other than myself would show up with a vacuum at some point the next day to take care of the situation.

But after that first day, we got wise. We found the outdoor shower. And by day 3, Connor realized he was tall enough to operate it - though the fact that it was there to rinse sand off one's body after going in the ocean was a point lost on Connor. No, he preferred to use it just to cool off in the evening.



Here he is, showing off his job well done.

Second class citizen

During our recent vacation in Cape May, we spent an afternoon at the Wildwood amusement park. It was nice to go to the park, if only to confirm every bad stereotype about New Jersey I had ever been privvy to. You see, we spent almost all of our time in Cape Cod, and that town is super charming. Victorian homes line the streets and the beach is beautiful.

But Wildwood? Well, it's just a wee bit on the trashy side. But no matter. There were cars that went in circles that the little people could be strapped into which provided a couple of hours of fun. Note that Connor insisted that Helen ride on the back of the tractor rather than sitting with him.



Later, he allowed her to ride front-facing in a boat, but she had to sit in the backseat.



In spite of the second-class citizen treatment, and the surly look on her face, Helen had a great time and was hard to get away from the rides.

Elaine

4th of July

I am a HUGE fan of fireworks. My love of them was started as a child when my father allowed us to purchase fireworks through the mail. Lots of fireworks. Seriously fun fireworks. Fireworks that went bang, fireworks that sparkled, fireworks that turned into little paper lanterns, fireworks that rolled around, spun, shot up in the air. You name it, my dad allowed us to get it. Except bottle rockets. I guess they were deemed too unsafe for pops. I remember poring over a catalog with my sister each year picking out what incredible fireworks we would be setting off on the 4th. They would come in inconspicuous boxes, because uh...you're not supposed to mail explosives. But dude, it was fun. And we did not run out. I remember setting small fires in my backyard one year as my friend Lisa and I lit smoke bombs and then threw them across the yard because the trailing smoke looked cool. Of course, at the end of the smoke bomb, a little fire shoots out, and if the grass is dry, that is not a good thing. Especially when your parent looks out the window and sees you refilling the "safety bucket of water" a few too many times.



Don't worry Dad, motherhood has not caused me to lose my touch - and Ed insists on the ol' safety bucket of water!

Connor does not share my love for exploding things. In fact, he will duck his head and do just about anything he can to avoid them. This all stems from some particularly noisy fireworks at a Nationals game two years ago.

But I live in Virginia. A state that allows people to purchase fireworks inside county limits. As in, there are fireworks stands within a mile of my home. So this year, I went to the stand, and I asked for everything that did not make noise - which is somewhat limited, but still includes a few fountains. I decided that I could possibly ease Connor into the idea of fireworks being cool, laying the groundwork for future years.

And much to my relief, it worked!



Over the course of a few days, Connor fell in love with fireworks (something I know I will regret in a few years), and he became expert at placing the firework, running away, then Ed would light it as he watched from the porch.

His friend Zoe got in on the action as well!



And Helen, of course, gets left out of nothing (except waking up early, but we're not telling her that anything goes on in the morning as she snoozes away).



The show was enjoyed by a small, but select crowd composed of individuals who go to bed prior to dark.



Elaine

Happy 21 Months, Helen!

Holy crap, Helen,

You have turned into Sleeping Beauty and I love, love, love it. You see, even though your dad is an absolute champ about splitting morning weekend duty with me (in general, he wakes up with the first child on Sunday, I wake up with the first child on Saturday), I never feel like I actually get to sleep in because I feed you first thing in the morning. So, even though I get to go back to sleep, my sleep is interrupted. But now?!? Every since we got back from vacation, you have decided that you like to sleep, and sleep you do. Your record is 10:30. To be fair, you went to bed late that night, but still, this is fantastic. Basically, you sleep 12 hours from the time you go to bed, which means I really have to try and get you in bed by 8:00 so that I don't have to wake you before I go to work just to feed you. Now, if only you would rub off on your brother in this respect!



You are the master of two word phrases, and have strung together a fair number of sentences. For example, you've been known to say "easy does it" and "pipe down". Only, when anyone else says "pipe down", you start screaming. When you say it, you hope Connor stops screaming. Almost every night when I put you in your crib for bed I can hear you chanting over the monitor for a few minutes. Your most common phrase is "hold you, Mommy" which is said in the saddest voice possible trying to lure me back into your room. You also can be heard chanting "oh no, oh no" "sit down, baby", and any number of other things.




When the Georgetown Early Learning folks came by, they told me you were the best talker that they had worked with in their studies. I told them that perhaps that made up for the fact that you failed the test - for the first time ever! For this study, Elmo tried to teach you how to stack cups of descending sizes into one another. You watched the television patiently as Elmo played, but when it was your turn, you happily grabbed the cup and demanded some water. Then, when no one got you water, but instead we all just sort of stared at you thinking "do what Elmo told you to do, little lady", you said "from the faucet". And you repeated this a couple of times "Water...from the faucet" and then you marched over to your little kitchen and showed us what a faucet was, pretended to drink, and then offered each of us a pretend drink, and then said "Helly needs some water". Then one of the researchers asked you if there was anything else you could do with the cup, and you sat down and started to stack them. Only, rather than stacking them in order, you stacked them until you got to one that was too big, and instead of taking out some cups and putting the big one in its place, you banged it on top of the others as if sheer brute force could cause the cup to fit inside the others announcing "too big, too big!". The researchers told me this was super helpful as they could tell what you were thinking, when normally they cannot tell what someone your age is thinking. Now I'm really interested in their conclusions about whether children can learn from television.



You love to chase rabbits. When you see one, you hold your little pointer up to your mouth and say "Shhhh...rabbit". Your dad and you chase these bunnies around our yard regularly.

You can now anticipate what is going to happen with a bit much precision, and this is not good for me. For example, when we head upstairs for naptime, you might say "no nap".

You are the master at extending bedtime. We read, you play, we nurse, I put you in bed. During this time, you might ask to say good-night to Daddy just one more time, and to Connor, and you might do this a dozen times. Then, if I've managed to get you into bed, you might call out "Helly made poopie", which may or may not be true - but because the consequences of it being true require a diaper change, I go in to check on you. You also duped me one night by saying "drop baby", because I think you know that if you do, in fact, drop your baby, I will come give it back to you - mostly because I'm sure baby is at least partially responsible for your awesome sleeping.

The crew you sleep with now includes two babies, 1 mouse, 5 dogs, and 1 sheep. Many nights, you will tell me to take one baby back and put her away.

You continue to be stubborn, and now include in your repertoire the cutest little arm folding over your chest when you really need to make a point. You also throw food with great precision, enjoy washing your hands in your water glass, and ask "why" all the time. These are not my favorite characteristics, but we get by.



You love to go swimming, but what you really love is the warm shower afterward. You like to pretend to float in the little pool and go underwater. Often, when we are in the big pool, you will demand I let go of you so you can float all by yourself, because apparently you believe you can swim. You can't. I humor you by letting go and placing my knee so you can stand on it, but as soon as you realize you are standing on my knee and not floating, you realize it was a ridiculous request, and either go back to jumping into the pool or playing on the stairs.

Love,
Mommy

Happy 47 months, Connor!

Dear Connor,

Oh dear am I late this month. You see, we went on vacation, which resulted in me staying up late every night before vacation to get work done and then returning from vacation only to stay up late every night to get work done. It doesn't seem like much of a vacation if I have to work all the hours anyway. So that, my friend, is this month's excuse for such a late note.

This month, you were mostly a joy, and then you were less awesome when you decided that all rules in the house should favor bigger people over smaller people, essentially meaning that Helen always got the short end of the stick. What you fail to understand is that even if I did not love your sister (which I do), I would never go with rules that favored tall over small because often, I am the smallest person. Sorry dude, you're stuck with your sister, and you have to be nice, and I'm not bending on this one. Ever.



You remembered you owned an ATM machine, a present from one of your nannies (a thorougly inappropriate present, I might add), and proceeded to drive me completely insane. Really? It's fun to just push quarters into it endlessly and hear that annoying beep? Every time I put it back away on a high shelf so you wouldn't see it, you asked for it again. Sometimes, with this really sad "Mommy, I'm very sad because I think my ATM machine got lost, even though I put it away when I was done playing with it". So out it would come again. It's saving grace is that one morning when you woke up, you were content to play with it for a good 20 minutes letting your dad and I sleep in. That was nice. Nice enough that I think your dad is seriously considering lifting the TV ban, but that's not going to happen anytime soon. While you continue to wake regularly at 6:30, your sister has become the chief imitator of Sleeping Beauty in the house.



You made your dad and I burst out laughing when we were in the car one day and Helen was babbling about something. You apparently were tired of the line of conversation she was pursuing, so you shouted "Helen, do you see that rabbit", which worked exactly as you wanted it to. It distracted Helen into looking out her window for the rabbit, and losing her train of thought. It was nice work, I have to admit. Just like everyone else in the household, you know that Helen LOVES rabbits.

You also showed an alarming amount of compassion one day when we were with your friend. You had plucked three petals from a magnolia flower on a tree at the park (which you do not get kudos for as I has asked you to stop destroying the tree a few minutes earlier). Your friend wanted them, but you wouldn't give them to her. Eventually, she took them from your hands and tore them up. You were pretty upset by this and asked why she would do that. I told you that maybe [friend] was having a bad day. As it happens, we were on our way home, so you hopped in the car with the promise that we would find more flower petals when we got home. On the way home you said "I think [friend] tore up my flower petals because I didn't share with her the first time she asked. Next time, I will pick three flower petals: one for me, one for Helen, and one for [frined]." I thought you were showing sensitivity beyond your tender years to come up with this explanation, and was really impressed by the problem solving skills you displayed. Of course, the next words out of your mouth were "But if [friend] tears hers up, I will not give her mine to destroy." And, I suppose that's fair, if not the most gracious sentiment in the world.



You have announced on more than one occasion "I do NOT like to be told what to do!" and your father responded rather quickly "then you'll have to start making better decisions". Let's just say, you're still being told what to do, though I think everyone appreciates the sentiment.

You have taken to calling me Elaine rather regularly, which I think is completely funny. Your sister actually started it, but you seem to enjoy following suit. It makes me laugh every time.



We went on vacation with your dad's family (separate post coming on that), but I must say, you LOVE the beach. Love it. You ask to live there regularly. I'm not sure there was ever a day you were ready to leave. You even enjoyed getting socked in the face with salt water and begged to go out even deeper. It was a really fun time.

Love,
Mommy

Hey Internet - Want to know how awesome my kids are?

Last night we went to a baseball game and got home around 10:00. It's now almost 10:00 AM and Helen is still sleeping. She rocks.

Connor? He slept in 15 minutes this morning, getting up at 6:45 instead of 6:30. Not quite so awesome - but he did entertain himself in his kitchen until 7:15, which was pretty good.