Happy 63 and 64 Months, Connor!

Dear Connor,

I know it's late, but happy 63 months - and now it's even later, because you're 64 months! But when I started this note, you were only 63 months. This month has These past two months have been marked by you working very hard to grow into yourself. I can tell you're on the brink of change, and these changes can be hard on everyone. You handle the uneasiness you must be feeling inside by stomping your foot and shouting "FINE!" and then often issuing some ultimatum, like, "FINE! If you don't let me eat that piece of candy than I won't go to school" to which I reply "sorry, pal, I don't negotiate with terrorists" (a phrase borrowed from my friend, Helen) and you will stomp your foot again and say you are angry. I acknowledge that anger, Connor. And eventually, it dissipates and you move on. Five is a tough age. You're torn between being this incredible free-moving spirit growing into your body and struggling as you move into your head. Many people tell me that six can be a particularly difficult time of figuring out when to assert yourself and when to go with the flow. Perhaps that's what's going on now.

You love the weather this time of year, whether it's the few flakes of snow that you looked at out the classroom window one day - when your teacher let you run out and try and catch a snowflake on your tongue, or the light dusting that came during breakfast, you want to play with it. You also love the leaves that crunch and I must say, you were the champion of leaf rakers this year. Between you and your babysitter, you kept the leaves in the backyard at bay for quite a few days!

You also love the Christmas season - starting with the Advent garden at school and ending with the big huzzah at whatever grandparents' home we happen to be at. Similar to years past, you are excited to hop right up onto Santa's lap and let him know you want trains, more trains! But lately, you've also been very insistent that you NEED a volcano. Why? Well, just in case we're ever near a volcano, you would like to have practice running away from it. You even make the distinction between this volcano and every other item on your Christmas list. Those other things? You want them. The volcano? You need it.

You've changed, as an artist. Typically, you draw crazy lines going every which way. In the book of drawing made by you and your peers at school for your birthday, you drew one side with lots of colored lines everywhere and the other side was mostly black (hello, future therapy!). Before I had much time to worry about this rather dark version of the world, you explained that it was a thunderstorm. But recently? You were hanging out with Helen while I was at a meeting at your school and your dad was continuing the destruction of what remains of the boardwalk on the side of the house and you drew seagulls flying all over our path. It rained later, so the seagulls are no longer there, but maybe you'll put them back another day.

You've upped the number of puppet shows around here, and unfortunately, I have very few of them caught on video. I had a cocktail party / cookie exchange about a week ago and you prepared a show for everyone. You insisted that we all come upstairs to your room, where you then told a story about a few characters that flew out into the audience, complete with sound effects from a harp and guitar.

On Sunday, I hosted a cookie decorating party for children and you prepared a creation myth for us to enjoy. There was quite a nice setup, some magic stairs, some mention of a time when it was all dark, and then when it was all light, and then animals were created on various days. It actually had a beginning, middle, and an end. Nice!

And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the counting, and the obsession with money. It makes me nuts, but you love putting quarters into dollars, and nickels, and dimes, and pennies, and really - any piece of change you see sitting around the house that you quickly lay claim to. Your Great Grandpa Bill sent you and Helen a check in the mail and you immediately announced to Helen what her share was. And you were correct.

Rules. You know them. You live with them most of the time, but you flirt with breaking them as well - and sometimes do break them. It's obvious, of course, but parenting after the breaking of rules is loads more difficult than parenting that mostly establishes following rules. I'm hoping this flirtation ends soon.

You are still my loving, happy, entirely charming best guy.

Love,
Mommy