Saturday, June 7, 2008

Nate's Monthly Newsletter, Two Years Nine Months

Dear Nate,

Someone asked me how old you were the other day, and I told them you were almost three. Then I had a seizure. How is it possible that you are almost three?

Your language has taken a quantum leap in the last week or so, and now you're on top of your game. The negotiating has begun, almost always in relation to sleep. Right before your nap yesterday you came into the kitchen where I was working on dinner and slyly asked "Can I have a banana and then my nap?" How could resist?

You're starting to identify your feelings, for which I give your school all the credit. We walked to the fire station a few days ago to check out the ambulances and firetrucks, and you babbled the whole way there: "Going to see the firetrucks? And the ambulance? And the fireman?" The second one of the firemen spoke to you, you stopped functioning. You tucked your chin into your shoulder and couldn't speak. When I asked you to please say "hello" to the fireman, you whispered "I'm too shy."

We had a little talk about how it's fine to be shy, but you still have to use good manners. I'm never going to make you hug someone or try to force you to interact, but you do have to say "hello", "goodbye", "please", and "thank you."

Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing - Photo Books

You're not a social butterfly; you never have been. I remember people trying to get you to smile at them when you were a baby - it was an exercise in futility. You didn't cry, but you sure weren't about to smile at a stranger. But with your family, you're really very sunshiney and friendly. You ask me: What's that Mama? And I'll tell you: That's cilantro! Your inevitable response: Ooooh, I WUV cilantro! Daddy loves cilantro! Do you love cilantro? Fill in whatever word you want for cilantro and that's your response to anything new. I hope that positive attitude carries over to what I think of as your "real life" - when you're grown.

Life with you these days is like having a sports announcer at all times: you like to narrate what you've done and what you're doing. After a tantrum, you'll tell me "I was crying, Mama." You fell down trying to climb into your carseat last week, splat onto the parking lot floor. Of course I ran over to pick you up, got you calmed down, and we started for home. A few minutes later I hear "I fell down, Mama." Yes, you did. "And I cried." Yes again. "And then you picked me up!" I did, buddy. That's what Mommies do. "Mommies pick up little boys?" Yep, and hopefully don't get arrested for it.

You still love to tell me "no!" and I've taken to calling you "sassy." You retort: I'm not sassy, you're sassy. Sometimes you'll be playing with your blocks and I hear you banging them together saying "You're being rude! You're being rude!" At least it's getting through.

I have no complaints about you as a two year-old. I think you're a blast. There's no doubt that it's a lot of work trying to raise you properly, to teach you manners and consideration and empathy and goodness. This morning you were using my camera to take pictures in the living room, and you plopped down next to Jack and started taking pictures of him. In between each one you gave him a little pet on the head. You give us spontaneous hugs, and you light up when Jack is around. You're very sweet, and very special.

I love you,

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