Dumbo Weekend

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Sunny Days

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Housekeeping at 30 Months

Hi Beautiful:



So the latest development is that you've started cursing like the cast of South Park. We have always been pretty unguarded about our language around you, and it's beginning to pay off. Yesterday your father and I were having a discussion about which preschool to send you to in the fall. One of the options is a school that gets rave reviews but begins each day with a nondenominational morning prayer. We've been discussing calling the school to find out specifically what the morning prayer is, reliving past experiences involving forced prayer, and weighing the significance of Easter egg dyeing as a preschool activity.

Then yesterday, as Dad and I were putting away dishes in the kitchen, you walked into the room and said "GOD DAMN IT!" about six times in a row, then walked out.

"And that," I said, "is why we can't send him to the preschool with the morning prayer."

Not to mention the fact that earlier in the day I witnessed you in the playroom yelling "WHAT THE FUCK?" at your refrigerator about 20 times in a row.

None of which is to say that you're an angry kid. You have no idea what these things mean, but you know Dad and I say them a lot, so they must be important.

You have, however, become quite conniving in your old age. Despite the thoroughly documented lack of the phrase "I love you" in our house, this has become one of your favorite things to say, and you say it frequently and utterly genuinely. Except when you say it to try to get something. To wit:

Last week we were walking around the neighborhood when you suddenly ran in fron of me and demanded, "Mama pick you up."

"No," I said. "You can either walk or ride in the stroller."

You turned this over in your mind, then looked up at me and said, "I love you, Mama."

"Aw," I said, scooping you up in my arms and giving you a hug. "I love you too."

Then you looked at me triumphantly, as I was now holding you, and said, "Mama pick you up!"

You knew! You knew that if you told me you loved me I would pick you up. Sneaky. Yet, endearing all the same.

But here's something that's not endearing. Your need to repeat nonsensical phrases constantly, over and over, eternally, until the parent nearest to you wants to cut his or her ears off. Phrases like, "I'm the puma." Or: "I'm King Louie."

You like the Jungle Book, did I mention that? And you state that you are at least one but sometimes up to four of the characters in it at least fifteen times a day. I have no idea what you mean by it, but you do it.

You also have adopted Mogli, the main character in the Jungle Book, as your imaginary friend/little brother. You deposit him in the stroller, pull the hood down for him so he doesn't get sun in his eyes, put him down for naps (Which usually involves screaming "Mogli, GO TO SLEEP," and then slamming the door to your bedroom) and give him time outs. Mogli seems to get a lot of time outs, usually right after you've gotten one, but sometimes just because you're bored.

"Mogli threw his toys," you'll explain. Or, "Mogli, you listen to what I say," followed by door slamming. You'd think sometimes you were living with Joan Crawford.

And, you still love talking to strangers. Now more than ever. The other day we were in the park and you looked around, found the clump of people closest to us (adults, I might add) and said, "Wanna go talk to those guys."

"Why?" I asked. It would never cross my mind, in a million years, to approach a bunch of strangers for the fun of it. But for you, its just what you do. You're somewhere new, you find people to talk to.

You can't explain why yet, but I'm looking forward to the day you can. I'm just dying to know.

Love,
Mama