Nate's Newsletter, Four Years Seven-ish Months

Dear Nate,

Another late newsletter, another attempt to redeem myself. In my defense, you aren't changing as much, month to month, as you did when you were little - there's not always an amazing transformation to write about. But you are so special, and so particular, that I want to make sure to keep writing down the things you're doing and learning and saying to us.

You are such a mix: 2/3 of you is sweet, considerate, thoughtful, caring, concerned, and the other bit is moody, prickly, solitary, independent. Sometimes you're ripping a toy out of Jack's hand, and sometimes hunting one down to help him cheer up when he's upset. A month or so ago, you told me you wished we could always have a baby Jack's size in the house. Then you said you want him to stay two forever. I told you I did, too, and you said "Yeah, because I love him!" When he tried to crawl up onto "your" recliner the other day, you put down a hand to pull him up, and you guys shared it for the whole movie.



You are coming out of a full-blown obsession with death, now just a passing interest. It has been troubling and hard to answer your questions about death, especially with the sadness and fear you've shown about it. More than once, when we've talked about your Grandma Fredi, you've actually cried. You feel her loss as keenly as if you'd known her and loved her. We've had to stop joking about Daddy being "old" because it has sent you into long crying spells where you talk about how when Daddy dies you "won't ever see him again." It was so heartbreaking.

I wish I was a believer. I wish I had a strong, sure path to show you. The best I've been able to do is to tell you that Daddy and I will always be with you, every second of your life. That even when we die, we're with you. The first time I told you this you cocked your head to the side, considered it, and amended it with "until I die, right?" Ugh.



The sadness and fear has mostly passed, and now you ask more practical questions. A few days ago in the car on the way to school you asked me "When we all die, does the world end?" It was 8 in the morning. I am prepared for questions about where babies come from, but these death ones throw me off my game. I think I told you that when Grandma Fredi died the world kept going, and it would after we die as well. But when we have children we live on in them, just like Grandma Fredi lives through us. You seemed okay with that explanation.

You and I are having a lot more fun these days - I've gotten better at handling your pricky times and you're having less prickly times. I've been stressing the word "agreeable" with you, making sure to praise you every time you demonstrate it. It's gotten predictable enough that now, when you say "okay" to a request, you look at ME and grin and sing-song what I've been saying: "That was very agreeeeeeeable!"



There's another thing you've been doing that I'm having a hard time putting words to: you don't like me to get mad at, or discipline, anybody else. You rush to their defense immediately. One time when we were driving your friend Leo home from Pump It Up, I asked him not to talk rudely to Jack; you immediately jumped in with "He was just joking!" (He wasn't.) And when I harshly scolded Jack for leaving the house without me, making him cry, you asked me to stop, saying "But you're making him sad!"



Last week when I picked you up at school, I asked you what I always do: what was the best part of your day and what was the worst? You told me that the worst was that Leo says he's not your friend anymore. When I asked why you told me that at recess Leo and Gabriel were planning to chase and tease another little boy, Matthew, so you "told on the teacher."

You are all heart. I prayed that you'd be a man of character, and you're already showing more than I could have dreamed of.



This past weekend I took you and Jack to Charlottesville for Uncle Fred's 80th birthday. At night the three of us shared a bedroom; Jack in the crib in the middle of two twin beds. I got you tucked in and got into bed, and after it was dark and quiet for a few minutes you said "I love you Mom." I hope I never forget.

I love you.
Mama

Jack's Monthly Newsletter, One Year Two Months

Dear Jack,

Today was an amazing, joyful day. Horizons have broadened and mountains have moved. You turned 14 months old today, and you finally started clapping.



Oh, and Barack Obama became President of the United States. I hear there was some excitement about that, too.

I'd been starting to worry a bit about your development; a quick glance at the What to Expect Toddler Years book shook me a bit. They were talking about the 12-month checkup and how I should make sure to tell the doctor all of your new skills: pattycake (nope!), clapping (nope!), waving (once, but never again). They were talking about words you should be using (nuh-huh) and it started to scare me - they were talking about the 12-month checkup and you were about to turn 14 months! I talked it over with Daddy and Deborah and they helped me relax a bit.

Writing this letter has helped, too - noticing all of the progress you've made, even if it's not verbal. Your clapping is what put my fears to rest, finally. It really was almost as exciting as Mr. Obama's inauguration for me.

You really are changing so much. One of your favorite new games when we're upstairs is finding a toy you love and fitting it through the rails of the hallway banister so that it falls down onto the stairs. Then you stick your arms and legs through, one at a time, to try to somehow get the item back. Then you screech at me until I come get it for you or until you find a new toy to torture yourself with.



You take such joy in being able to walk around. You love to walk back and forth downstairs and you light up with joy each time I come back into your line of sight. You grin and gasp and do your funny "happy walk" where you imitate a monkey - your knees bent and your arms dangling in front of you. When music is on you still do your Stevie Wonder imitation but now you also turn around in circles while you're "dancing." Honestly, Jack, you're just the sunniest kid I've ever known.

Deborah was holding you a few weeks ago and she asked you "Where's Nate" and you pointed right at him. If I'm holding you, you point where you want me to carry you. You love to share whatever you have - your bottle, your crackers, anything. You gorilla-walk up to whoever has caught your eye and foist your gifts upon them. They get extra points if they mime eating it while saying "Num num num" and handing it back to you. Simple pleasures.

Your favorite favorite games are the "I'm gonna get you!" variety. Daddy gets down on his hands and knees and tries to "eat your piggies" and you squeal and "run" and look behind you to make sure he's following you. You can keep it up as long as his knees can take it.



Here's a funny thing that you've been doing since you were first able to hold onto things, months and months ago: if I hand you something, you take it with the very tips of your fingers - a new toy, food, whatever. Even with how unstable it is, you always reach for it with the tips, and if you decide you like it you'll get a better hold on it. When I give you a new food, you poke it with your pointer finger for a while before deciding whether or not to try it (you always end up trying it).

The very best part of this month has been watching you and Nate start to really play with each other. When you grab his shirt Nate will start to walk and the two of you will cruise around like a little train - you grinning with joy and Nate grinning with pride. Tonight Nate came up to you and started dancing around and singing, and you started dancing back and Nate just giggled with the fun of it all. Later he was lying on the couch on his stomach playing a game on Deborah's phone, you toddled up to take a look. Nate turned to you and said in his sweety-high-pitched-Jack-voice "You see what I'm doing, Jack? You wanna watch? Okay!" I know you guys are going to have your rough spots, but so far you guys are so amazing together. I'm just so proud of you both I can hardly keep myself from bragging to random strangers.

Everyone is drawn to you and you are drawn to everyone. You're a Mama's boy, but you love everyone you come across. Today I left you with neighbor Sara while I went to check out the festivities; you looked startled when I handed you over, and you cried for half a second when I left, but you quickly got back to the joy of it all like you always do.





I don't know what I did to deserve you in my life, Jack, but I'm so grateful for whatever it was. You are a gift, a joy, a blessing. I'm so glad you were born.

Love,
Mama

Nate's Monthly Newsletter, Three Years Four Months

Dear Nate,

You are such a little boy now; I almost can't believe the conversations and interactions we have. I rarely have to "dumb down" anything I'm asking you, and just have to simplify a bit when I'm answering your questions. You haven't gotten into the complex ones yet, thank goodness for that, but you're passionate about understanding your world.

I don't have a lot of other three year-olds to compare you to, but a lot of what you do and ask seems to be based on trying to organize your world so that you can understand it. You ask a lot of questions like "Is that a Mommy job or a Nate job?" (I tell you that dangerous tasks are "Mommy jobs" so that you know you're not allowed to do them.) You want to know what words mean, how things work - you really listen and study our explanations. Tonight we were reading a Thomas book and it mentioned a plow - I told you that it scoops up the dirt so that farmers can plant seeds. You looked at it for a while, then asked me where the dirt goes after it's scooped up - you really thought about it. Smart boy.



It's been a great relief to find that I can really trust your lead in what you're ready to accomplish. I left the potty training mostly in your hands, and it was much easier than expected. A few days ago you refused to wear a diaper at night any more, so I let it be and you've done great. A month or two ago you asked me to take the rails off of your bed and you haven't fallen out once.

These days you're expressing a lot of interest in knowing if something's a letter or a number, which letter it is, what worlds say...so I knew it was time to start working on "school" with you. You've been ready to give up your nap for a while now - the days you nap you're not falling asleep until 11 pm! So out with the nap and in the afternoons, while Jack naps, you and I do a little school at the dining room table. Right now we're working on tracing to build up your penmanship (well, crayon-ship in this case). After "school" we do a few chores and then we work on cooking dinner together. It's so nice to spend some one-on-one time with you - with Jack asleep, you and I get to take our time and really work together.



The questions never stop these days, the talking goes on and on, and the sassy has gotten to teenage proportions. Your response to every single unwanted thing that I ask you to do is "But Mommmmmm......" When you procrastinate doing whatever unwanted thing I've asked you to do, prompting me to ask you again, I get to hear you insist "I am doing it" when you're totally not. Trust me, kid, I have to spend enough time nagging your father - I'm getting no joy out of asking you again.

On the other hand, you've turned into a world-class helper around here. Sometimes your desire to be around me all the time we're home, to participate in every move I make, can be frustrating, but the truth is that you really do try to be helpful. If we're getting dressed to leave the house, I can ask you to get Jack's shoes for me and you're back with them in a flash. When we decide to make smoothies for snack, you go right to the cabinet and pull out the blender base and the jar and you put them up on the counter for us to use. When we're cooking I can give you blocks of tofu and you'll cut it into small pieces, and yesterday you helped me cut up the whole head of celery into snackable-sized pieces. You really did it, then helped me bag them up to put in the fridge. Thank you for your help, Nate.

We spent some time with your Richmond cousins over the holidays and you just soaked up every second with Connor. He was so incredibly kind to you, and really seemed to enjoy playing with you. You guys spent hours together and I was so happy for you. I hope it's a relationship you guys always have; I guess Daddy and I will have to work to make sure that happens.



I got you a train set for your big Chanukah present, and you've really enjoyed it. When you saw it for the first time, you just lit up:



Today I got to listen to you downstairs playing with it and it gave me such a thrill. Not just the fact that you were playing alone...by yourself...without me, but hearing you participating in the world, thinking of your own games, being yourself independent of us, makes me so happy. Until you see your own children breaking away from you, living in the world by themselves, you won't understand but it's one of my deepest joys.

You are one of my two deepest joys, Natey.
I love you,
Mama

Jack's Monthly Newsletter, Month Thirteen

Dear Jack,

Late, late, late. I swore I wouldn't let myself start doing this, but I guess that late's better than not-at-all.

Literally as I type these words, you are trucking back and forth our upstairs hallway with a used diaper in your hands. Gross? Yep. Disgusting, frankly. But it's all folded and bound up so the pee's on the inside, and it's a little ball of happiness to you. Clean diapers, used diapers, you love them all. You don't do anything with them, just carry them around. I try to keep the trashcans off the floor to keep you from getting at them, but you always find the ones I forgot to move. Right now you're trying to figure out how to hold onto your precious diaper and still pick other things up off the floor. Not being terribly successful, but not letting go of the diaper either.



You're not an obviously willful child, but you are quietly stubborn and I love you for it. When we move something out of your grasp, or thwart you in a project, you don't put up much of a fuss but you don't give up easily either. Best of both worlds, I think. Nobody loves a pushover, and it wouldn't stand you in good stead to be one. Keep at it, baby.

Walking is second nature now, and you're starting to step over thresholds and negotiate harder paths. You walk along with your feet turned out for stability and your butt sticking out; if I could video-tape every second you're mobile, I would. You're too cute.

You're really into music these days, swaying from side to side whenever you hear a tune on the radio or TV. Sometimes you add in a little knee-bounce, but you're best at the Stevie Wonder sway. You occasionally add in some droning, and I'm fairly sure you're actually singing in your own mind.

Did I mention that you had absolutely no interest in your birthday cake? None? You have a texture thing when it comes to food. If I try to hand you something unfamiliar or put new food on your tray, you'll draw your hands back and then very gingerly poke at the intruding food. Poke, poke, maybe a little smear, and then a tiny taste. Then you stuff your face full. Except the cake - you didn't stuff the cake. I'm truly not exaggerating when I say that you ignored it all, even after I pushed a shmear of icing through your lips so you could taste it on your tongue. You ended up eating grape tomatoes and red pepper slices, and your brother gave up after a few bites of cake and asked for more salad. Funny boys.



You do, however, love chocolate. A lot.



The last few weeks have been so tough for you with ear infections and RSV, coughing and congestion. We put the cherry on top last night when we let you fall down the basement stairs. You were totally fine; I'm still shaken. It was my fault, Jack, and I'm really sorry.

We continue to be amazed by your sweet nature, your contentment, your delight at life. You have a smile for almost everyone, even if you're ducking your head into my chest while you grin.



You are my sweetest heart, full of love-struck sighs, open-mouth kisses, and total grins of delight when you see me. I know you're going to grow and change, and you'll fall out of love with me just the way you're supposed to. I wouldn't hold you back even if I could, but all the same I'm already missing this love, this joy, this sweetness between us.

I'm so glad you were born.

Love,
Mama

Nate's Monthly Newsletter, Three Years One Month

Dear Nate,

The "terrible twos" have their reputation, but it's the private opinion of Mamas that the threes are worse. You've managed to evade both phases so far, and I'm counting my blessings. I'm trying to enjoy you at this age as much as possible because I have strong suspicious that you are about to turn into a classicly obnoxious little boy soon. A few days ago, you said to Daddy: "You silly bad guy, why'd you pop my balloon?" Your first name-calling, and I suspect poop-jokes aren't far behind. Poop, poop, poop.



You're still sassy as hell sometimes and I guess I wouldn't change it. Sometimes at night you get a bee in your bonnet about not liking one of your animal friends and you decide you don't want it anymore. You call out for me to take it away and I call back "If you don't want it, just don't play with it!" A few minutes later you'll come stalking out of your room, throw the toy on the floor of my room, and march back to bed.

You're sleeping in your tent most of the time now, on a bedroll that Grandma and Grandmpa gave you. When I tuck you in, you like me to give everyone a kiss: Bumper, Woody, then you. After that come the animals in your tent: Whale, Mama Monkey, Baby Monkey, Giraffe, and Elephant. You've gotten a little manipulative: if you're trying to stall bedtime, you ask for another kiss, or for me to give the animals another kiss. Nice try, buddy.

A few days ago I left Jack at home with Grandma and came to pick you up at school alone. I know it's important to spend time with each of you alone, and I really enjoy the chance to talk with you without interruption. I stood there waiting for you, and you noticed me and ran to me with you usual "Mommy!!!!" But halfway through your run you slowed down, stopped, and demanded to know where Jack was. You walked all the way home in a funk.



You're loving preschool, and I'm so glad. You leave the house happily, don't fuss at all when I leave you, and you're happy and content when I pick you up. The kids are all different ages and nationalities, and though you're still a loner a lot of the time, you definitely have a fan following. Nikola is a few months older than you and adores you - he's always trying to hug you, drag you along, or wrestle with you. You put up with all the hands-on stuff for a little while, and then you just walk away. I'm so grateful that you haven't picked up on his physical play, and it's funny to see you being so haughty about who you choose to play with. Because you're so content to walk away and play by yourself, you've got nothing to lose!

You are a caring, sweet boy, especially when it comes to Jack. If I accidentally leave the gate to the upstairs open, you always stop Jack from climbing and slam the door shut. You cover him with kisses and hugs, maybe a bit too much. When he's crying, you run across the room to dance for him or tickle him to make him laugh again. You're giddy with glee when you guys roll around on the floor like kittens, rubbing your heads against each other and grinning.



One night at the beach, you picked the movie "Born Free" to watch. I forgot about the guy stalking around with a gun the whole time, and you picked up on him right away. You told me you didn't like him and wanted to know what he was doing, why he had the gun. I told you that sometimes people just felt like they needed to have a gun, and you nodded knowingly and said "Yeah, so they can squirt things."

I could wish you could always be so innocent, Natey, but I know it's not to be. I'll wish instead that you keep your good kind heart and always use it to guide you forward.

I love you,
Mama

Jack's Monthly Newsletter, Month Ten

Dear Jack,

The hardest part about writing this letter was choosing among the great photos; you have personality coming out of your ears. Everywhere we go, people are always commenting on what a smiley, adorable guy you are, and darnit if you haven't come to expect it. When we're near other people who aren't looking at you, you'll smile at them and sometimes make noise until they look at you. You can't get enough of it.

I picked this photo to go first because I feel like it really shows you. The flying-nun curls, the rivers of drool, and the scrunchy-nose-squinty-eyes smile that makes you look a little evil:



You're changing every day, just like you're supposed to. Last week you started "creeping" which means you're walking along holding onto the furniture. You've been able to stand up for a while if I let go of your hands, but a few days ago you started letting go on your own. You can climb stairs like a pro, and you're starting to kneel with one foot up while you play with your toys. I sense much head-bonking-falling-down in our future.

We've spend a lot of time out at the beach and you've just been a superstar. While Nate and Sam ran around like lunatics, you'd just mosey-crawl from one thing to another, gnawing and shaking and drooling on everything. You like to come check in with me, but you're awfully good about playing by yourself and watching what's going on around you. Thank goodness for you.



Shockingly, you've turned into a pretty great sleeper. You take a morning nap around 9:30 and another one around 2. Bedtime is around 7, you sleep until 5, take a bottle, and sleep again until 7 am. You've even gotten good at sleeping away from home - you're at the beach with Daddy right now and he reported that you did just fine last night.

You had a wonderful first trip to the beach. You didn't balk at the sand, though you were pretty worried about the crashing waves. I can't blame you for that - it's pretty loud! We've been back several times and you even warmed up to the ocean, letting me dip your feet in the waves when they roll in.



You're very good in the car, and great in the stroller, as long as we're moving. Your favorite toys are balls, and these days Nate's plastic bats. I've been calling you Bam-Bam - you whonk that bat as much as Nate will let you. You're big on shaking and banging and whomping. You still just have the bottom two teeth, though the top ones are close, close, close. They're driving us both a little mad, frankly.

You're still an absolute pig; you eat everything and anything you can. Your main staples are tofu cubes, black beans, celery with hummus, bananas, and grapes. You are starting to pick through and eat your favorites first - the grapes always get eaten at the beginning. Pretty much, though, you'll stuff anything in.



There's no doubt about one thing: you are a Mama's boy. There's nowhere you'd rather be than in my arms. You are amiable about playing on the floor, being in the car, and all of that, but in the end you want me. One of my favotie things is when I go to get you from your crib. You're always standing waiting, and you reach up as I put my arms down. When I lift you through the air, your arms are up just waiting to wrap around my neck and when you get to me you stick your face in my shoulder.



I love all of the love, and I chafe at it a bit, but mostly I'm grateful as heck for you. You're just a chunk of overflowing joy and happy and I can't tell you how much I adore you.

Love,
Mama

Nate's Monthly Newsletter, Three Years

Dear Nate,

I've put this off until I can't put it off any longer. I have plenty of excuses: your birthday party, our vacation at the beach, the demands of my day. I think the truth is that I'm so scared to get this wrong. To leave something out that would explain you better. To put too much in that doesn't matter. To fail at communicating who you are, how you are, what you do.



You are three years old. You are a little boy. You ran up to me this morning, hugged me around the knees, and said you loved me. Last night I gave you you a Woody doll I'd bought you for no good reason. When I handed him to you, you played with him for a minute and then said "This makes me glad." Woody sat in a chair next to you at the dinner table and you looked over at him after every bite of food.

Almost every morning when you wake up, you come crawl into bed with me while Daddy is downstairs with Jack. We cuddle a bit, you squirm around, we cuddle a bit, you sit up, lay down, we cuddle a bit, you jump on the bed, we cuddle a bit. And so on.



Your language is amazing; it's almost like talking to a regular person. I counted a 14-word sentence the other day, full of prepositions and adverbs and adjectives and whatnot. When I'm on the phone with someone, I hear you repeating everything I say: practicing the intonations and the tones. At the beach when Beth was talking to us you would respond "Uh huh, uh huh". Out at the boardway, Sam kept throwing his sippy cup out of the stroller. You kept picking it up, giving it back, and watching him throw it out again. After four or five times, you gave it back and warned "If you do that again, I'll take it away."

I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head when I ask you questions these days. It's just amazing to watch you work. Last night we were driving home from the store and I asked you what your long name is. You've said it before, but never pronounced Nathaniel right. Last night you started with "Henry Davis" and repeated it a few times. I kept quiet, and then there was a very long pause, probably a 15-second pause. And you said your whole name just right. You just needed the time to work it out for yourself.



You're big on doing things yourself these days. You can get yourself dressed all the way down to your flip-flops which you insist on putting on, and taking off, standing up and leaning against something.

You sing songs all the time, mostly the songs to your TV shows. Backyardigans and Little Einsteins are your favorite to belt out. You like to make up words to the songs, which strikes me as a little precocious. When you request something without saying please, I tell you I can't hear you: you tilt your head, bat your eyelashes, and say "Pleeeeeeeeeease???"



You've turned into a sweet, enthusiastic, charming, cheerful, affectionate, loving boy. When we were at the beach house, I was sitting on the ground playing with you and Jack. You crawled into my lap, put your arms around my neck, and murmured "I won't let the dinosaurs get you."

Vice versa, Natey. Always.

I love you,
Mama

Jack's Monthly Newsletter, Month Nine

Dear Jack,

I was 99% sure that you were 9 months old today, but I did have to do the math just to be sure. December, January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August...you are officially 9 months old today. Whew.

You are still an avid climber, scaling whatever you can find. Almost every time I stand at the counter doing dishes or cooking, I feel little warm hands on the backs of my calves and knees as you hoist yourself upwards. Every time I look at this photo, the song "Climb Every Mountain" starts running through my mind:



I truly love the feel of your soft hands on me all the time, continuously, all day long. Making it especially fun, your brother has decided to get in on the act. When you crawl, he crawls. When you sit on my lap, he sits on my lap. When you use my legs to hoist yourself up, he uses them at the same time, when I carry you somewhere, he wants to be carried on the other side. Double the pleasure, double the fun (for you guys, anyway). I do enjoy the change in your previously reticent brother, and I love your love, until right about 6 pm. Then I need a little space. A lot of space. And a drink. (A lot of drinks.)

Your experimentation with standing unassisted began in New Hampshire and really got going yesterday. We were sitting on the living room floor - you used my knees to pull yourself standing, and let go for a good five seconds before you landed splat on your bottom. Nate and I cheered loudly and you grinned your gummy little smile as wide as it could go. I counted four or five other times that you let go for a few seconds each time. You're clearly on your way.



You're getting to eat a lot of "our" food now and you're pleased as punch. Last night you got the filling from the sweet potato burritos, and you gummed some celery to death at a restaurant a few days ago. It really takes the pressure off, knowing I can shut you up feed your soul with food when I need to get something done or I just want to chat with another adult at the dinner table.

Is it bad that 2 out of the 3 photos I planned to use for this newsletter are of you stuffing some sort of sustenance in your mouth?

Corn: the best teething tool ever:



In sum: you're cute, you're cuddly, you're not a huge fan of playing on the ground, and you're still massively in love with Nate. You're growing, you're eating, and you spend almost every second of the day grinning, even when you're tired and whiny. I love you endlessly.

Mama

Nate's Monthly Newsletter, Two Years Eleven Months

Dear Nate,

Sometimes I think the title of this letter should be "Nate's Monthly Newsletter, Thirteen Years." You're sassy, independent, needy, an enormous smart-ass - and sometimes you're just pure joy. Just like any good teenager.



I'm writing this from our place in New Hampshire, where yesterday morning you woke us up saying "Let's go outside, guys. It's a bee-yoo-tiful day!" Never mind that it's rained every day for 5 days, any day with your cousins is a good day. We purposly came the week that Simon and Jamie would be here, and I'm so glad we did; you are so happy to be with them.

Yesterday you said to Jamie "I'll run out this door, and then you run out the door, and then you chase me, and I'll run in the other door." Jamie humored you and you guys ran in circles for a while before giving up to play something else. You seem so much older to me when you're playing with them - a glimpse of the future, I guess. You really fit in here, with them, with your other cousins, with your aunts and uncles and their friends.

A few days ago your cousin Will was taking us out for a ride in the motorboat. As we put our life-jackets on, I told you that the boat was noisy and fast, and that if you got scared we'd slow down and you'd be just fine. You made it all the way down the dock, watched me get in, and decided you were not up for a ride. I assured you it was fine and sent you back inside with a friend. I asked Will to hold on for one mintute, and one minute later you popped your head out of the house and wanted to go with us again. We sat in my lap and I distracted you by talking about the color of the clouds and the houses we were driving past, and you sat stoicly and braved it out. No crying, no clutching, just one request to slow down. About halfway through the ride you got pale and quiet, and I feared you were seasick. I tucked you closer to me, looked down, and you were sound asleep.

You are your own man, and I just adore you for it. We were talking about the boat a few days later and I was trying to get you pumped up. I said how much fun I thought it was, and how much I like to go fast. Your immediate response? "I like to go slow." Period. I hear you.



One of the great things about your almost-three-year-old-self is that sleep is almost a non-issue. We made you a little bed in the corner of our room, and you're just fine with it. You tuck yourself in, put your rump up in the air, and all's well. If Jack cries in the night, you just turn yourself over and keep on sleeping. If you fall asleep in the car, I just carry you to bed and you snuggle down in to the pillow and get yourself cozy. I can undress you, diaper you, whatever - when you're tired you want to sleep. It's lovely.

You are starting to understand so many concepts now. You can count to 14, but you actually understand numbers up to about 4 or 5. You tell me you have two cookies, and you do. You tell me you see three dogs, and there really are. When we're reading stories you like to point to the animsl that are in front of Diego, behind him, next to him. You point to characters on a page and ask me "What's that letter, Mama? What's that number?"



One of your favorite new phrases is "Sometimes..." You'll tell me "Sometimes I don't like to go for a nap" (as if sometimes you do.) "Sometimes I like to eat snack before my nap." You still love to try to negotiate with me; I tell you you can do something three more times, and you counter with five. It never works but you keep trying, and I love you for it.

Big stuff is ahead for you now, and I can't wait to watch it all happen for you. I'm so glad to be a part of it all, and I'm cheering for you every second of the way.

I love you,
Mama

Jack's Monthly Newsletter, Month Eight

Dear Jack,

There you were, charting your own slow course, chilling out, letting your brother be the go-getter. No teeth, no sitting up, no crawling. Doing things your own way.



Not anymore. In the blink of an eye, in the span of weeks, you're an entirely different baby. You're sitting up perfectly, reaching for toys and never tipping. You can go from sitting straight to crawling, and right back to sitting when you've gotten where you want to go. Within days of crawling, you were pulling yourself up to your knees and now you're pulling yourself up to standing. One tooth through, one right behind. A river of drool precedes them. I don't even know who you are anymore.



For about 4 days after you started with all of this, life got really sweet for me. I could plunk you in the living room surrounded by toys, and you'd occupy yourself for quite a while. You are so funny and deliberate sometimes: you'll pick up a toy, turn it over and over and around, and then give it a taste test before the earnest chewing and sucking begins. Anywhoo, so you'd sit and be quiet while I did fascinating things like clean up the table, empty the dishwasher, or clean cheerios off of the floor. It was nice.

But you've gotten too big for your britches, and you're all over the place now. Trying to throw yourself down the stairs, pull Daddy's bike down on your head, and bonk yourself on every available sharp corner and edge that can be found.



(What I especially like about this photo is all of the safe, fun toys are off to the side while you try to chew on (and do eventually crack yourself on) the edge of the entertainment center.) We've gotta babyproof better. Your brother was so active, but he was never into things the way you're already getting into things. You are rarely still. When you're sitting, your hands are moving, moving, moving. It's nearly impossible to get a shot that's not a little blurry. Please go easy on us, okay?



I adore you. You're a wonderful baby, other than the not-sleeping-through-the-night thing, which we won't go into right now. You are truly wonderful in the car - I can't think of the last time you cried. I just plunk you in with a bunch of chew toys and get such a kick out of watching you pick them up, examine them, and spend a little quality time chewing on them one by one. You smile constantly, laugh easily, and hug your little arms around my neck. You crane around to see Nate or Daddy when you hear them come into the room. I can't wait to see you dive into the rest of your life.

Love,
Mama

Nate's Monthly Newsletter, Two Years Ten Months

Dear Nate,

I'll admit that it's hard to summon up the motivation to write this month, to try to figure out the right ways to tell you who you were at this very moment. Your Daddy-love has never waned, and these last few months have left me feeling very sad and removed from you. I've worked very hard to try to make sure you don't see it, and I truly hope I've succeeded.



If you're reading this in 20 years time, please know I didn't write this to make you feel bad or to rub it in. I've been trying to make this a real picture of our lives, and that's what part of our life is like right now. It's totally normal for a kid to prefer one parent, especially the same-sex parent, especially when that parent is at work all day and comes up the conquering hero. I get it, truly. Doesn't make it easy, but I get it.

It's bittersweet, because watching you I'm seeing you turn into this fantastic little boy who I hope I get to be friends with. You're starting to understand the jokes I make, and you're getting your own personality with language and songs. Yesterday I came into the living room and found you laying on your back playing harmonica. When you sing all of our kids songs, you like to really belt them out in a deep loud voice. Fun for us, not so much for the people nearby.



Your favorite phrases are "Oh, man" when something goes wrong and "I don't like that!" when we're making you turn the TV off or go to bed. You're taking charge of your language, and starting to use words in ways of your own - you really understand so much of it now. You've gone from asking "Where Bumper?" to "Where's my Bumper?" to, yesterday, "Daddy, do you know where Bumper is?" You were staying with Grandma the other day and she was setting you up to play in the sink. You kept asking "Where's my xxxx?" and Grandma just couldn't figure out what you were saying. After trying a few times to make her understand you paused and said "You know, I need to be higher. Where's my stool?" We love how patient you are with us.

We think you're old enough now that we're starting to give you "jobs" around the house. When we're leaving the house to head to the car, I try to always give you one light item that you're in charge of carrying. When you're done with your meal, you have to put your plate and cup on the counter in the kitchen. You're pretty compliant. This morning you finished your watermelon and headed into the living room to read your new Diego book. I saw you stop, look at your wet hands, and head into the kitchen to dry them off with the towel. Little man.



I have figured out a sneaky way to get some affection from you, and I'm sure it's everything the textbooks would tell me not to do. Sometimes I'm holding Jack and he'll give me a hug or a "kiss" on the side of my face, and I'll thank him out loud for the hugs and kisses. Competition gets the better of you, and you're compelled to give me a better hug and kiss. Fine with me. I only use my secret superpower every couple of weeks, I promise.

Jealousy of Jack is starting up a bit now that he's starting to get into your toys, and a bit of competition too. Even with that, you're still fantastically loving and supportive and kind to him and we're so impressed with you.



I love you, Nate. With every hard moment comes a happy fun one and I'll hang onto those. You're a super kid with a sweet heart and sunshine all around. I can't wait to see what comes next.

Love,
Mama

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,
Mama

Jack's Monthly Newsletter, Month Six

Dear Jack,

You are six months old today. Do you know what that means? It means I haven't slept through the night in six months. That's half of a year. Half of an entire year. Can you understand that? I can't.

But about you: you are fabulous. Super-fabulous. I brought you to Grandpa's office, and I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that 8 adults were crowded into one small office, everyone cooing over you. You were you regular happy, grinning, flirty self and you charmed everyone. I am always bursting with pride because wherever we go people cannot get over what a happy, happy baby you are. My Nanny would have called you "delicious." You are.



You started sitting up in the last few days, and today you even managed to right yourself when you started to fall over. I cheer and clap and squeal when you sit up, and you give me one of your squinty-eyed nose-crinkling smiles. I love that smile.



Your need to roll over at every opportunity continues, as does your hatred of being on your tummy. It's perplexing. Also perplexing is your distinct love of sucking, your desire to suck on anything around including my thumbs, your toys, and your toes; everything except the thumbs and fingers that are so readily available to you.

Why do I care what you suck on? Selfish motivation, I admit. As soon as I know you can comfort yourself by sucking on your thumb or fingers, I'm cutting off the night feedings. I can't bear to do it thinking of you crying alone in the dark; at least if you can suck your thumb I know you can help get yourself back to sleep. It's no more complicated than that.



You are the sweetest thing, Jack. When you wake up from your naps and I lift you out of your crib, you put both arms around my neck, grab hold of my hair or my shirt, and pull your face into my neck. Sometimes when you see me you do a little gasp of joy and then grin and grin, and it fills my heart. I give you at least 100 kisses a day, and you smile at each one. I absolutely can't get over you.

As much as I love you, you love your brother. He is your favorite person on earth. You can't do anything but grin at him when you see him, and you could watch him run around all day. He can make you laugh more than anyone else can; your favorite comedic routine is when he slaps his own head and yells "bonk!" You can't get enough.



Last night Daddy, Nate and I went out to dinner to celebrate Aunt Deborah's birthday, and we left you at home with a babysitter. In general, I'm thrilled to leave my kids at night and get away. It certainly made the whole evening easier that you weren't there. But I shocked myself by missing you the whole time. It felt like someone was missing.

You might find out one day that I had hoped to have a little girl, and was disappointed to find out that you were, in fact, another little boy. I admit that that's true. But Jack, I swear this to you: I don't wish you were anybody else than who you are. I can't imagine life without you.

I love you,
Mama