Two and a Half

I tremble a bit as you approach and pass the 1/2 year mark as Eight is usually a bit more trouble on the second-halves of her years.

There's no doubt that you're a little more challenging as of late. But as usual, your tantrums, while loud, are short in duration. At Target the other day you were screaming for one of those items in the checkout lane when I started singing "You can't always get what you wah-ant!" and now, whenever I say I want a kiss from you, or for you to put on your pants, or for you to go to bed, you repeat it back to me.

I can see this is going to be a challenging adolescence where you're concerned as well. I can just imagine you telling me this when it comes to you perhaps graduating from high school with something over a 2.0 average, attending college, and doing all of this PRIOR to getting some gal pregnant. "Nope" you'll say insouciantly, "You just can't always get what you want." And I'll think "DAMN! Maybe I should've just BOUGHT those friggin M&M's in the checkout lane way back when you were TWO!"

You are also very sweet and surprisingly helpful. I planted two new trees in the back yard recently and have been obsessed with watering them (despite the daily storms we've been having). So, the other day after I had drug the hose out to the trunks you ran up to the spout and exclaimed that you were going to help me by turning on the water.

It is amazing as a parent at how little it takes to feel like you've been helped.

Lastly, I think one of the most amazing things that I have watched over the last two-and-a-half years of your existence here on this planet, is you growing into yourself and becoming aware of the world. We saw a sign for "Kids Hair" the other day and you said "That's where we go!"

Just amazing.

Here are a few pix from Junes present and past.




You on our nature walk.


You getting your medal upon completion of your class at The Little Gym.


You, one year ago this month.


You, two years ago this month.

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: 29 Months

This newsletter is about a week late, but I'll blame that on you, honey, as you are seriously in the throws of being two.

That and finals and a research deadline and volunteering at your sister's school....

I've finally realized why I'm slowly losing my mind, or at least acquiring a disproportionate amount of gray hair, Big. Basically, if one of us (BioMom or I, or some other caretaker) is not directly watching you, SOMETHING happens. It may be as small as you peeing all over the floor, or picking on the cat, or getting into your sister's paint, or gum stash or, as we regrettably found out a little to late the other night, that you can now open the gates in our backyard on your own (we found you, luckily, moseying down the sidewalk on the little blue Carebear trike that your grandpa gave you -- as opposed to underneath the tire of a moving car, or in the back of some windowless white van accompanied with a ransom request).

You're nearly two-and-a-half years old now and sometimes I look at you and I see this stretched out, tallish-looking KID, and it's really weird. And that's just LOOKING at you. Watching you and listening to you just exaggerates it. You're really competent physically and, well, it's a bit of a relief to me. Just today, I watched you crawl all over a neighbor's backyard jungle-gym-ish sort of thing and, although I watched you carefully, I no longer panic at the thought of you climbing higher than me and possibly falling. I know that you can either handle it, or the fall.

You've started that two-and-a-half year old semi-sensical babble that is so fun to try to decipher. BioMom will ask you about your day and I love to listen to what you remember, what affected you, and what bubbles up from past experiences. Sometimes you'll totally bust me. Yesterday, for example, we ran into Father and Mother of Four (who were, incidentally looking for their ten year old who had gotten off the bus at the wrong stop and was casually making his way back home, despite his own serious homework deadlines and not telling his parents of his plans ahead of time). Father-of-Four commented on my clean car when you started telling them about all of the garbage I put in the back and front seat during my stealth mission to discard of the yard waste that the city hadn't picked up in a month.


Lately, when something is important to you, say, you don't want to share a recent garage-sale purchased truck with your sister, you say "It's for Easter!" emphatically. Other times, people and events will randomly bubble out. My brother just visited for Eight's first communion (!) and you wander around the house saying "Uncle Mike".

You call those windy slides at parks the "Tomato Slide" because you heard someone else call it the "Tornado Slide".

It now takes us nearly 45 minutes to get to the park that is just 4 blocks away. You refuse to ride in the Burly (to my great chagrin as I just got a new mountain bike with my BushII-economic-stimulus package), a wagon, a stroller, or even your own vehicle after a block or so. You get distracted by every dandelion, signpost, anthills in the sidewalk, bird, or blade of grass, and you whine until I carry you on my shoulders, which, has become increasingly difficult as you are as dense as a black hole.

You're really happy. Any tough spots or "tantrums" are really short-lived and usually solved with a little snack or sleep. And although I do like to get stuff done or just read a bit during your naps, I literally run up the stairs to get you when I hear you stirring from your nap.

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: 28 Months

Okay Big, you're 28 Months today!

I still feel a bit strange referring to you in months. It's not like I do that regularly, or in front of mixed company, but I guess in a monthly newsletter, it remains appropriate, somehow.

This month, well, this past weekend has convinced me yet again of the significance of biology in that old nature-nurture saw.

Friday was the first nice day here. What that means in Minnesota in the spring, is that it was the first day that wasn't below 38 degrees since October, but that's another story. Anyway, on such days in early spring, people pour out of their houses on to the sidewalks like honey from a full bottle. It is truly a remarkable thing unlike, I suspect areas like San Diego where people can take nice weather for granted. We were no different than the rest of our neighbors whom we hadn't seen for months, and you were trying out the array of vehicles we've collected for you over the past couple of years. Eight had her bike out and was circling the block and you, unsatisfied with your three-wheeled scooter and no-pedaled bike, borrowed other kids' 'real' scooters and begged to sit on bikes much too large for your little body.

You seemed to have already grown out of the tricycle that you had ridden to the coffee shop that morning with me and your friend Sophia. "Grown out of" implies that you had any ability to ride it in the first place. It is still a bit big for you and as of Friday morning, you were unable to comprehend the art of pedaling, so you would sit on the edge of the seat awkwardly while frantically walking on either side of the middle bar Fred Flinstone-style to put the trike in motion. This for the entire four blocks to the coffee shop, you back made me exhausted just watching (and practically running alongside of you).

At one point on Friday night I went down to our musty garage and dug out Eight's (two-wheeled) scooter and your little bike with training wheels bequeathed to you from Three-of-Four last summer.

This is literally the smallest bike I've ever seen. We never even purchased such a small bike for Eight as she had no interest until she was a bit older. Her entry-bike was a size up.

You flipped for this bike. By bed time, BioMom had spent about 40 minutes talking with you about how pedaling works, and how to use your leg muscles to get the pedals around.

We had a bit of time on Saturday morning, and the weather was still quite nice, so when I asked if you wanted to go ride your bike, it was all I could do to get your diaper on before you were out the door (you now know how to open the doors and even unlock them if necessary, which has truly changed the game around here for us as you ALWAYS want to be outside, but are still unawares of the rules of the road vis a vis cars.).

After an hour or so you were starting to get pedaling down and could actually get the bike to move for two or three lengths of sidewalk blocks (about 12 feet).

Sunday it poured. You kept asking to go outside to ride your bike, but I emphasized the rain and diverted your attention. After your nap, however, you wouldn't take 'No' for an answer and since Eight was interested in riding (I encourage her to do anything physical and would allow her to ride her bike in weather that would frighten a mail carrier if she showed a sliver of interest) we all headed out, rain gear and helmets in tow. By this time (literally 48 hours after your first tentative pushes on the pedal) you had it down. You pedaled that little bike around the entire block. . . TWICE! Beeping your little horn and pushing your way up the minuscule hills in the sidewalks.

By Tuesday, you had me chasing after you (you still don't have the breaking part down, nor are you aware of where the sidewalk ends) and I am quite positive that you traveled the equivalent of an entire mile. I'm thinking of signing up for a marathon this fall as I'll be inadvertently training for one by chasing after you all summer.

Other reports from the past month:
*Recently you've begun to refer to yourself as "Ponce" which none of us know from where this moniker came or what it means.
*When BioMom asks you for 'hugs and kisses' you'll often refuse, go on about your business, and then turn around and say 'Okay. . . I'll give you some hugs and kisses.'
*One recent phrase of yours: "That's the coolest truck I've ever seen!"
*You are incredibly social (much more of an extrovert than I) and always want to know :"him name?"
*You are still a devoted vegetarian.

We love you Sweetpea!

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: Nearly 27 Months

Hey Big --



I'm writing this early in anticipation of being overwhelmed by your sister's upcoming birthday extravaganza which falls a day before you turn, exactly 27 months. And having skipped last month, there's a lot to report. You've really become a full-fledged little boy now. At once loving, sweet, open and caring, and at another moment wild, violent, loud and rude.



According to the What to Expect: The Toddler Years book, you're doing just fine: using 50+ words, combining words, following a two-step command, etc. etc.

What they DON'T give much advice about are those things we know that you know (that we know that you know) how to do, but refuse. Sure you can "wash and dry hands" and "brush teeth, with help" but will you?

The answer: only if I tie you down in a straight jacket and endure screams and tears.

I exaggerate.

But seriously, what's with these questions from parents in that book? What were they expecting? A trained monkey? Here's one: "As if the accidental spills weren't bad enough, lately my son has decided it's great fun to spill his drinks intentionally--on the floor, the table, himself. I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

Dude. The other day after you had taken a bowl full of black beans and tipped it over your head, played air hockey (fairly unsuccessfully) with carrot sticks on the table, and used Jello as if it were finger paint on the walls (all in those nano-seconds it takes for me to go to the bathroom, pick up after the previous fiasco, or just wipe your nose) you reached across the table, a finger stretching toward my (glass) glass of ice water and, with a shit-eating grin on your face, tapped it ever-so-slightly so that it would, fall over the edge in slow motion while my "NOOOOOOOOOO!" echoed throughout the house.

I didn't know you had slow-motion powers!



We got you this little bike without pedals (the "Skuut" which you pronounce "sooc!"). When it arrived, you could tell immediately, by the pictures on the box what it was and began searching the house for "scissors" so that you could get to the business of opening the box. BioMom was home for lunch that day and we sat down to our salads only to hear you pushing and grunting the box into the kitchen: "Here you go, Baba! Baba! Here you go! I get scissors. Here you go!!!" I waited for your nap to put it together and when you woke up, I felt like I was watching some Disney production proclaiming love at first sight. At night now, your routine isn't complete without giving "Sooc!" a hug and a kiss.


In the above picture, this was the response to my prompting "look up!" Taking me absolutely literally, you looked up. Not at me.

You've started playing make believe, to BioMom and I's surprise. I remember when Seven started playing make-believe with dolls and, really, anything within reach (sometimes salt and pepper shakers or forks and knives while at restaurants). She was around three (we think) and so when you started having your trucks and cars take naps, it seemed a bit unusual. You now often report that one train hit another, or that one car gave another a hug ("hugs!") or some other anthropomorphism. Often cars are found at the dinner table participating in our nightly eating ritual.

Recently, while reading books, you pretend to do things with some of the pictures you see. For example, just tonight when we got to the end of Go dog! Go!, when all the dogs climb the tree to a dog party, you pretended to pick up the cake and eat it, once in a while pinching a piece for me. Then we moved into this more extravagant game of picking up the presents, unwrapping them and declaring what was inside. At one point you pretended to open up a ball, and then proceeded to throw the imaginary ball, expecting me to retrieve it all over the room. Well, I got tired of pretending to get up and get it after you had thrown it from one corner to the other of the room, so I then pretended to intercept your throws! Your last throw got by me and headed toward the television in our room, ultimately smashing the screen. You weren't too upset.



You, however, don't eat much. Still. What is surprising is how you maintain your, (ahem) figure. Recently at gym class, someone went to pick you up and was astonished at how "sturdy" you were! If I give you a decent breakfast, you might not eat another bite the entire day. And you still hate meat. I think in your life, you've eaten about five bites of meat. And that includes the broth in our alphabet noodle chicken soup.

I'm increasing my vegetarian repertoire in your honor.



Here's another subheading from the What To Expect book: "What is important for your toddler to know: What's a Mommy? A Daddy? Sorting through gender roles."

To be fair, despite the unambiguous title of the section, the authors acknowledge all types of families including having two moms or two dads. . . "Yet, although many of the sterotypes that were popular in the sitcoms of the fifties and the sixties have been shattered, teh remnants linger in many homes. While Mom may work as many hours as Dad outside of the home, she may still do the Mrs. Cleaver's-share of the housework."

The other day Seven was off of school and we had had a playdate with a couple of girls in her class whose parents are divorced. On the way home she asked why she couldn't stay longer and we said that they were going over to their Dad's house. A few minutes later we heard big say "Baba is Dad." It wasn't entirely clear as his enunciation isn't exactly stellar yet, but BioMom was fairly sure that's what he said. I responded, "yeah! I guess that's right!" Your pronouncement, Big, was really evolved I think. Not only are you starting to get gender roles, but you're able to distinguish between the roles we play as his parents and the roles we play around the house. I'm mostly at home with you (BioMom's mostly at work) yet I'm more of the "dad" and she's more the "mom".



I love you so much, sweetie.

Love,
Baba

Thwarted Irregular Monthly Newsletter: Month 25

Okay, so a 25 month newsletter seems a bit ridiculous, I'll acknowledge that. And then there's the fact that I can't keep up with all of your changes. I've written parts of this newsletter at 3 a.m. in my head in bed, no pen or paper in sight, only to remember the next day that I had started writing this newsletter and thought to myself, 'now what was I trying to say there?'

Today you were sitting on the kitchen floor playing with a truck or maybe you found some remnants of the breakfast cereal that you had let fly the other day. I dunno what I was doing. Some mindless soup preparation, or laundry folding, or toy fetching. Whatever.

You looked at me and squinched up your face and non sequitured (and yes, Jen Fischer, I just made up a word. We bloggers can do that!) "NOT FAIR".

It was so awesome to see you do that in such an absurd context.

Seven often resorts to this line of (ill)argument and she is sometimes right at some level. (As an aside, I used that phrase of speech 'at some level' with her the other night and she followed up by saying to me 'how many levels are there?'. . . . I'm doomed.) Often the argument comes at bedtime. Or at mealtime. Or at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday. And it is either because Big got some thing or privilege, or a handful of nuts. Or that one of her classmates either got a Webkinz or gets to watch Hanna Montana on t.v. Sometimes I react and sometimes I giggle at the absolute absurdity of a) me standing in front of a kid who is saying that to me. . . That I am actually PARENTING someone of the age to recognize the FAIRNESS of a given situation and b) that there is still someone out there who has the idea that life is, in fact, fair.

Dude. I want to say. Even in Communist Russia there was a gender wage gap! Talk to Marx about 'fair'!

So anyway, Big. Thanks for keeping things real with me.

I've attached this video for all to see if interested. I know that it is totally narcissistic and self-indulgent, but (at least to me) it is laugh-out-loud funny. I was sitting with him one recent afternoon after he had woken up from a long nap. We were waiting for BioMom and Seven to come home from work/school and I started singing the ABC's to him. Once I got started, he started belting it (or something not really resembling the ABC's) out at the top of his lungs! I had never heard him "sing" before, so I quickly grabbed the camera and tried to replicate it. This video comes close! Focus on the audio though as the video was taken during the gloaming, with him on my lap and me holding the camera out and to the side to try to capture him singing. I think that he ends up looking like an ultrasound or something.

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: Month 24

Hello Mr. Two-Year-Old!

Two Years Ago Today



Last Year Today


This past month was one of three or so in which you seemed to have become aware. You have emerged. You and your personality have essentially burst onto the scene that is our little family. You now have preferences that you verbalize. Well, you probably always had preferences, but you would just never verbalize them. I'm just lucky that I seem to forget most of the negative aspects of this new coming-of-age portion . . . .

Some preferences include (in your dialect/translation):
Watch. Tee Vee. ("watch t.v."). This is usually followed by (because we watched the Charlie Brown Christmas episode):
Chah-lee Brown? ("Charlie Brown).
Meehr Milk. ("More milk")
Peas? ("Please.")
Help you? ("Will you help me with this?")

And the most recent addition: "GIMMIE MEHR!" No translation necessary.

You say Seven's name quite well and it is usually said urgently, followed by some request from her. You love being around her and are in some obvious heaven when she actually gives you the time of day.

She, on the other had, only gives you the time of day when she needs to be focused on something else, like, perhaps, getting dressed for school. Then she's all: Hey, Big! Can I help you with those cars or trucks?

You're quite polite. The other day we attended a little story time at the library. You were playing trains with a few other kids that were there and one of the trains kept breaking. You would go over to an older kid who was clearly enjoying the job of "fixer" and say: "Fix! Fix" followed by "Tanks, kid!"

You're starting to develop a somewhat wicked sense of humor which, when combined with that little twinkle in your eyes, can be a lethal combination.

The other night we were well into our bedtime routine. On the bed we laid in order: Biomom, Seven, you and then me, first focusing on your little board books (you're favorites at the moment are "My first truck board book" and "Oops!" by David Shannon

At one point, Seven reached over the book to show me something and inadvertently knocked it out of my hand.

I couldn't resist but to tease you all with a last name other than my own (well, BioMom and Seven in particular) about their well-known (and well-documented) clumsiness. Much giggling and more teasing ensued and Seven started knocking the book out of my hands on purpose just to get back at me a little.

Well, as you can expect, Seven, not being able to understand yet when a joke has worn out its humor, continued knocking the book out of my hands well after the laughing had abated. I (perhaps) began to get a little fed up about it all and said that I'd head downstairs and continue on with my own business if it was knocked out of my hand again.

With that clear, I proceeded:

David's first word was "Ball!" and . . .

CRASH!

You (Big) had reached over and knocked the book out of my hand and then, with that little sparkle in his eye, laughed hysterically.

No joke in the world has had more perfect timing.

A negative aspect of your burgeoning personality is your alpha-maleness. I've seen it erupt only in certain, rather unpredictable circumstances. You seem to grow antlers around a friend from our ECFE class, crashing into him whenever you decide that its "my turn!" and the other day at your little gym class I witnessed you tear after a little boy with your hand up. Before I could reach you, you had hit him and I was mortified by what followed clear as day: "STUPID!"

I am highly aware, now, of where and when BioMom and I use that word.

You started the same sort of behavior the other day with a little girl who met your intensity and you two had fun chasing each other around a gym testing out each other's power.

Do you have any suggestions for how to socialize that aspect of you without squelching your little spirit? We do live in a society along with other people, after all.

Lastly, because I'm getting to know you so well, and because I would personally like to do some cross-country skiing this year, we got you, for your birthday, a little pair of "fun skis". Initially when I took you sledding, you were unwilling to actually sit in the sled and be pulled. It is as though you refuse to be a passive participant in anything. So, while you were willing to ride on my back while skiing last year, I know you won't be able to stand just watching us three ski with you in the backseat. I've created a little course in our backyard for practice, and I'm taking you on your first round there tomorrow. Soon, I suspect, you'll be an Alpine king (pictures forthcoming).

I find myself at the end of the day spent with you exhausted and drained, only to be followed after about ten hours of recuperation practically running into your room to grab you out of that crib at the first hint of "Baba! Baba!"

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: 23 Months

Happy 23 months, Big!

One year ago today:






Two years ago this month:




So, we're shopping for birthday presents, dear son!! And probably having as much fun doing it as you'll have with a few new toys.

There are three strong themes for this past month: language, lifting and, as if to warn us for the incoming twos, hoarding.

Your language exploded this month. It seems, literally, like a month since you were saying a handful of words. Now you say just about everything and even, once in a while, string together a couple of words. For example, one of your favorite thing to say is "UNT ___!" which translates into "I want ____" fill in the blank.

You have a penchant for lifting what you perceive to be "BIG!" or "HEAVY!" things and bringing them over to us, or whomever will accept your token of affection. Since Seven (at two) would never have considered showing off her physical prowess, or be concerned with 'the weight of all things', this has caused another chink in my gender-as-constructed armor. There is just something in you that seems to make you more 'boy', although it is hard not to react to your dramatic lifting an announcements of all things heavy. Especially when you're on your third or fourth go-around and I'm sitting there with a lap-full of enormous trucks.

Lifting has gone hand-in-hand with hoarding. We went to the Children's Museum the other day and ended up in this huge room meant for playing with vehicles on ramps and roads that you could move around. Unfortunately, there were only four or so trucks there. We were doing fine until another person about your size meandered in. You FREAKED! "MINE! MINE! MY UCK! MY UCK!" I talked to you (in as reasonable a voice as I could muster) about sharing and gave you three of the little ones and the one HUGE one to the little boy. You continued to freak and practically terrorized the kid by chasing him around the room, all the while attempting to keep hold of (and at one point even hide) the three cars you actually had. "MINE! MINE!"

And then, when it was time to leave the museum (or Elmo, as you had come to call it due to the enormous signage out front) you threw yourself on the floor and, as I went to scoop you up, bit me on the arm, leaving loving little marks that I can still see and feel today.

We love you, sweetie.
Mama and Baba

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: 2 Months to 2 Years

Danke schoen, Darling, danke schoen!

At 22 months, Big, BioMom and I agree that you've become a heckuva lot easier. You're fairly easy-going, you can concentrate long enough to play a bit on your own or with other kids, you can go up and down stairs by yourself (although you'd prefer a little help) and you're learning to communicate.

Ahhh.

I was mostly waiting for the day when you could do stairs so that I didn't have to constantly freak out: SHUT THE GATE! SHUT THE GATE!

Oh, and we're much less worried about you choking on stuff. Which is a really good thing since we haven't re-proofed the house since the whole toy-scare. I'm sure we've got Polly remnants somewhere in the basement with the magnets that could seize up your intestines, but we'll worry about that later.

You did recently have your first temper tantrum for Mof4. A harbinger of months to come, I suspect. As she relayed the story to me, it was hard for her to keep from giggling about your over-reaction to not getting to play with kids on their bikes that you saw from a block away. On the way home you angrily threw your cars cars and dumped a box of animal cookies all over her car. Upon arrival, you laughed about it all.

That's the nice thing about you; your sense of humor. You've got this infectious laugh and cute little dimples that make it practically impossible not to laugh back at you.

As far as words go, you're into the stage of copying everything we say, but some new favorites are "cookie" and "cake". Those two are irresistible to me, too, Big. There's construction on the freeway nearby and while driving the other day I heard you saying "Cain! Cain!" while pointing out the window. I finally understood that you were saying "Crane!" without the "r".

You're also starting to express preferences in loads of areas. Or, maybe we're misunderstanding preference expression with a desire to say "no" with a firm shake of the head. BioMom said that the other night when she was putting you down, she'd start to sing a song and you'd shake your head back and forth. She understood that to mean that you didn't want the particular song she had begun. She went through the list in her head of bedtime songs, but all of them were unacceptable to you. Finally, to a made-up tune, she just started listing all things with wheels and all things that move:

"Trucks, balls, cars and diggers. . . Buses, tractors, cranes and more balls."

You snuggled right up and fell asleep in her arms.

We love you, sweetie.

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: 21 Months

You've turned 21 months now, Big. Not a big month per se, but still.

One cute new addition to your repertoire is that you sit down in different places and pat the seat next to you (emphatically) to indicate that you want someone to sit next to you. Often, your pats are in places where an adults rear-end could never fit.

Your spacial skills are somewhat absent in other areas as well, as I have seen you try to cram yourself into Barbie vehicles, and put your feet into cottage cheese containers (empty or otherwise).

Both you and your sister have gone through growth spurts lately. You literally grew eight teeth in the last three months and she has been falling all over herself due to the extra inch or two that she grew over the summer--a real Lucille Ball we have here. If she becomes an actress, her forte will surely be in physical humor.

I have, in the past, posted some great children's books that we've happened-upon from the library. The following is one that brought tears to our eyes. It is titled You Are My I Love You by Maryann K. Cusimano and Satomi Ichikawa.

It goes like this:

I am your parent; you are my child.
I am your quiet place; you are my wild.
I am your calm face; you are my giggle.
I am your wait; you are my wiggle.
I am your carriage ride; you are my king.
I am your push; you are my swing.
I am your audience; you are my clown.
I am your London Bridge; you are my falling down.
I am your carrot sticks; you are my licorice.
I am your dandelion; you are my first wish.
I am your water wings; you are my deep.
I am your open arms; you are my running leap.
I am your way home; you are my new path.
I am your dry towel; you are my wet bath.
I am your dinner; you are my chocolate cake.
I am your bedtime; you are my wide awake.
I am your finish line; you are my race.
I am your praying hands; you are my saying grace.
I am your favorite book; you are my new lines.
I am your night-light; you are my starshine.
I am your lullaby; you are my peekaboo.
I am your good-night kiss; you are my I love you.

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: No. 20

You're TWENTY MONTHS old today, Big. I think that that is officially too many months to be saying that you are "X months" when people ask, so today I told someone that you were "almost two." The gal told me that her kid was 22 months and that she knew someone who celebrated their 1000th day.

Once when BioMom took Seven (who was then "almost two") to Florida via plane, someone asked how old she was as she had a vocabulary of an english grad student. BioMom responded by saying "she's one!"

If I had to be honest to these Park-Moms, I'd have to say that you are twenty (months)-going-on-four (years). Ever since I took you too one of those little tester-classes at The Little Gym, you think you can jump or swing from anything.

You've taken to treating me as your own personal chariot, rushing around while we're walking, so that we are face-to-face, holding up your arms, grunting until I pick you up, then pointing and swinging your body toward where you would like to go, presumably in an effort to save energy or to move more expiditiously.

I'm not a fan as you're quickly approaching 35 lbs.

Your language continues to grow, however languidly. You clearly get everything, but you just keep most of it yourself. Although I did hear a clear "hot!" out of you the other day as you hopped across the sweltering deck toward the sprinkler.

The pictures posted here show more summer fun. The other night at National Night Out you really wanted to get dunked in the dunking machine, but settled for trying to get your sister; kickball with Cousin and kids, and your new tracktor from the Family-with-Four-Kids.

It feels like the adventure with you is just beginning.

Monthly Newsletter Addendum

P.S. I forgot the addition of one new word, an emphatic "POOP!" (pron: pew-oop) with the accompanied pointing and exclamating ("PEW-OOP! PEW-OOP!") in the general direction of the source of such substance on any being, especially the cats upon whom there is special attention and attempts at touching.

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: 19 Months

Nineteen months old today, Big.

Not a milestone per se. Not to anyone but us, your family, because a) we're over that little expected behavioral "hump" (heading speedily toward the terrible two's) and because you have finally (finally!) gotten your eye teeth--those terrible pointy teeth with literally longer roots than wisdoms.

Ahhh.

One little vignette provides a decent overview of month nineteen.

A few nights ago you were having a hard time falling asleep. I'd put you in the crib and walk away, fingers crossed, and you'd howl. We're quite empathetic with this behavior since it usually signals a problem on your side of the equation. In this case, as we expected, it was your impending teeth.

The third time I went in, I picked you up out of your crib and held you, humming a little comfort song, hoping you'd relax a bit.

You hooked your left arm around my neck and held tight.

As the song neared its end, you leaned back and emphatically and repetitively made the ASL sign for "more!"

One year ago, this month:

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: 18 Months

Well Big, while you officially turn 18 months old on the 9th, you were emotionally 18 months at least about 10 days ago.

Something clicked in you and you now regularly show preferences for things other than food, like footwear (often you prefer your rainboots, colorful and easy to get on but with that pesky corollary that they are also easy to fall off) and you display negative emotions at a much regular frequency than, say three or four months ago.

You've been working on your upper eye-teeth for a while. The tooth issue has been a breeze for a while as you still only have ten (six on top and four on the bottom). But now the doozies are coming in and you have been sleeping in fits and starts waking us with loud exclamations of aches and pains.

You seem somewhat more needy lately, which is, honestly, a time that I love to share with you. At night you've been waking up a bit and it only takes a little back rub to calm you back into sleep.

You climb on everything, including the diningroom chairs. Often, I'll look away and back again and find you teetering expertly, one toe on the tip of the chair which has, by that time scooted away from the table, your body hanging on for dear life.

Unlike Seven though, you rarely fall, even though I often get the feeling that you're about to crack your head open.

Achievements:
You can literally drop kick a ball (one of Seven's friend's mom's saw you do this at a soccer game and was blown away. I didn't know that there was anything special about it).

You're getting better at eating with a fork and spoon, but the more 18monthish fact about this is that you absolutely refuse NOT to eat without the utensils. As a result, you eat everything with them, even clear finger foods.

In the same vein, you copy Seven in the mornings by eating cereal out of a bowl with milk. This has obviously been a source of personal pride for you. You look at us as if to say I'm no baby! Give me some MILK with my Cheerios!

You are passionate about scooters (see previous post).

Your languge expression has not yet exploded (as some say will happen) but you clearly follows and understands everything.

New clear words include "truck" and "bubble" but still no purposeful "mama" or "baba".

"Wee-ooo-wee-ooo-wee-ooo" which previously was devoted to only apparent rescue vehicles now seems to be applied to yourself when you need or want something. Instead of your usual grunt-and-point, you've started to "siren" your need.

Just so you know, it doesn't make us move any quicker.

You definitely understand the command to give someone a "raspberry" and do so whole-heartedly. At bathtime, at bedtime, in the morning, afternoon and evening, you've been known to go up to Seven or BioMom, pull back an article of clothing and blow onto their skin, and then smile radiantly at the sound you've made.

We love you like crazy, Big.
-Baba and Mama and Seven