Four years, seven months

Here you are having just sailed by 4.5 years old without a party, gifts or a letter from the prime minister. How this was not a nationally recognized event, Jack, I will never know. Because it meant a lot of things to you, including starting at your new preschool.

Your dad and I can only hope you continue to love school as much as you love preschool. The weekends are sheer torture for you because it means you have to wait TWO ENTIRE SLEEPS before you go to school again. You tend to pull out your favourite line when we mention this fact.

"That's too long."

Everything, for the record, is too long in your book. Time until your mid-morning snack, time until lunch, time until mid-afternoon snack, time until dinner, time until you can watch a show, time until we go to the park. I can feel your pain, Jack. I have days where the time until it is bed time in this house is TOO LONG. By about a quadzillion minutes.

What amazes me most about this new school for you is that you actually seem to be learning. Each day, one of us manages to drag out of you what you talked about in class, and you bring up all sorts of interesting things, like firefighters, police officers and recycling. As a mother deeply attached to all of those things, I am very excited to hear this is happening. And that you actually seem capable of retaining that information and sharing it with us. Getting a four-year old to do that is a feat akin to climbing Everest with no oxygen pack.

I was not sure how you would deal with the fact that you were not bringing your own snack to school this year. This year, it was a class snack brought in by volunteering parents. I don't know what I thought they may bring in that would deter you from snack time as I have found so very few items that ever stop you from snacking. Liver, I think. And maybe raw chicken. The first day, I asked what was for snack, and you quite happily replied, "The crackers you have when you are sick."

I sensed Day One of class snack time wasn't completely thought through by the teachers, but you did not seem to mind this one bit. In the following days, you have been thrilled to report yogurt tubes, strawberries and other such preschooler delicacies. This was all good and dandy until you told me you had a "long shape of cheese and I loved it."

"Do you mean long and round, like a tube?"

"Yeah. It was so good."

"Like a cheese string?"

"Yeah. That's what it was. I want you to buy a million of them."

Child, I almost simultaneously wept and wanted to strangle you. I can't even attempt to express how long I have tried to get you to eat a) cheese and b) cheese in string form. No other kid we know doesn't eat those. But magical, mystical preschool seemed to have transformed you from the kid who refused to eat solidified dairy to the kid who can't stop singing its praises. I knew my dollars there were going towards something good. If you learn not a single other thing there, I will always be comforted in the knowledge that they taught you the wonder of cheese.

Love,

Your Momma

Three years, seven months

Holy summer of summers, Batman. I can't name too many things you didn't do this summer, Jack. Maybe we missed scaling the Himalayas and wrestling a crocodile, but other than that, I think we managed a pretty clear sweep of the key things a boy must do during his third summer.

Because your brother is too little this summer to do all the grand things a three-year old is capable of, your dad and I decided to split some time between the two of you so you both got to do things that worked for you. For Evan, that meant eating grass at the park, and then rocks in front of the house, and then assorted bugs at Grandma's and Poppa's cabin. For you though, it was a whole new world of camping, travelling with cousins, overnight stays in trailers and endless days of running, playing and have the world revolve around you. Three sucks, doesn't it?

Dad took you for your first ever camping expedition to Dinosaur Park. Dinosaurs AND a park? How could this not meet every little boy's fantasies? On the bright side, the dinosaurs were mind blowing and terrifying and awesome. On the less bright side, camping stunk. You, my little friend, are not yet a full-fledged fan of the great outdoors, particularly in the midst of torrential wind storms. But really, who can enjoy a place where you are constantly wondering which of the dinosaurs are going to spring to life and scare the living daylights out of you?

I took you to Grandma's and Poppa's cabin for a few days of fun, fishing and full out three-year old fantasy. You could not have been more excited to see the trailer we would be sleeping in for those few nights. I should not, however, dismiss it as a simple trailer. No no no. It was a large, powerful locomotive of which you were the commanding engineer and conductor. And Grandma and I were the weary passengers taking part in your never-ending journey. Had I known all it would take to amuse you for hours on end was to park a 24-foot trailer in the backyard, man, I'd have done that months ago.

Add to this a trip out on the boat and your first fishing expedition, and you were one happy guy. You were very happy to touch the fish you were catching, until Grandma and I got all squirrelly when you and Poppa pulled a jackfish on board. You sensed our hesitation with dealing with that particular type of sharp-toothed monster of the dee...I mean, fish...and refused to touch fish any more. You loved helping reel them in and were so excited to see them, but touching, mey, who needs it.

Top that off with a trip to Elbow to visit your cousins, Stampeding with another cousin, endless visits to the zoo and Heritage Park and all the water park fun you could want, and that, my little friend, was one heck of a summer. If I could be three again, that's exactly how I'd live that year. I'm so thrilled your dad and I could be such a big part of it and we each had some time on our own with you to truly enjoy the little boy you are. It's going too fast, Jack. It's just going too fast.

Love,

Your Momma

41 Months

The wonder of being almost three and a half is that you can say pretty much anything you want and still get away with it on the grounds of being a) cute and b) saying what most of us are afraid to really say.

A couple of weeks ago, we arrived home from a supermarket trip where you made the most exquisite shopping companion. You pushed the little kid's buggy around the store, and whenever I told you what we needed to find next, you would stop your cart, raise your arms in the air and exclaim, "I DIDN'T KNOW WE NEEDED PEANUT BUTTER/TOILET PAPER/FEMININE HYGIENE PRODUCTS." You were frightfully cute and each time I added an item to your cart you would run through what all the items were now in your cart. A 15-minute trip ended up taking us one hour, but who am I to rush a budding foodie?
When we arrived home, I did as I often do and asked for your help.

"Can you help me take some of these groceries into the house?" I ask as I tried to juggle a purse, cell phone and coffee cup while grabbing for a few grocery bags.

"No, I don't think so. But I'll sit here on my bike and watch you."

I know your dad would prefer to say that to me most days as well, but he knows my response would be less laughing in exasperation and more kicking out of his legs from under him.

Another day, you were fighting me as I was trying to apply sunscreen to you. Finally, I stopped and said, "Do you know what happens when you don't wear sunscreen?" You looked at me quite curiously and asked, "What?"

"You get a bad sunburn that makes freckles and sun spots all over you just like on my back," I said as I showed you my shoulders.

You suddenly stood a little stiller and let me finish the greasing process. The next day, when I was putting it on you again and you were being extremely cooperative, I asked why we wear sunscreen.

"So we don't get polka dots," you replied.

Close enough.

Maybe I focus so much on your comprehension and language because it is part of the career I've had to this point. Maybe I should focus more on summarizing your outstanding gross or fine motor skill, or your ability to stick your finger so far into your nose that I am concerned for the safety of your brain. But, Jack, I just love hearing what new ideas and interpretations you are coming up with. In part, I think it makes me think harder about what I say to other people, particularly when I'm trying to teach them a new concept or a different way to look at a situation. So, see. You are in many ways teaching me to be a better person and a better consultant. And I expect you will be asking me for a cut of profits as soon as you realize this.

Love,

Your Momma

40 Months

Preschool has come and gone for the year and here you are on the cusp of summery summerness. Already, it's been a season of adventure and travel. A trip to Medicine Hat to visit Grandma and then home for just a couple nights until you were off to Drumheller with dad. And Drumheller just sounds exciting, doesn't it? Like New York or Shanghai. Except with fewer broadway musicals and less smog.


Dinosaurs are becoming more interesting to you, and more than likely because a couple of little boys in your preschool class were pretty promotional about them.

"I'm a dinosaur and I can eat you because you are only a train."

Truer words have rarely been spoken in that class.

I can only pray we move on from the trains and diggers and graders of yesteryear onto something new. That's if you can call extinct animals new. But I'd happily talk about iguana dung at this point if we could stop discussing all the things a dump truck can carry.


To prepare you for Drumheller, your dad took you to the library to get some books about dinosaurs. I sat down with you that afternoon to look through the new treasure trove of information and stories. You brought me the book you most wanted to read, curled up beside me and I started to read the cover to you.

Giant Meat-Eating Dinosaurs.

Now, I'm your mom and I know there are certain things in this world that disturb you. Like ketchup. And cheese. And watching Thomas shows where he gets trapped in a dark tunnel. And any show where an owl appears. So, I was fairly certain that the true story of giant meat-eating dinosaurs was not going to work for you. No way. No how.

"Did you even LOOK at these books before you got them?" I asked your dad.

"Ummm. Sure?" he replied, so utterly full of confidence.

"Yeah. Well, dinosaurs ripping the flesh from other dinosaurs doesn't strike me as particularly kid friendly for this child who IS AFRAID OF OWLS," I pointed out.


However, you were determined you wanted to learn more about dinosaurs. From this book and none of the others you had got. And so I proceeded to tell you a very nice and loving story of dinosaurs who liked to jump on each other and play tag and sleep quietly beside the river while their dinosaur friends stood around them with mouths all red from the yummy cranberry juice they had all just enjoyed together.

And now, don't you wish you were a dinosaur?

Oh, Jack. How I enjoy those moments you challenge me to think on my feet. I'm sure there is a parenting expert out there who would tell me to explain to you in terms you would understand what was going on. And I wanted to, Jack, I wanted to. But I just couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth. Not just yet. When you returned from Drumheller with your newly acquired Tyrannosaurus Rex, you excitedly explained to me how he ate other dinosaurs and how his friend, the Triceratops, ate plants. And that is all we need for now, right? We'll make our way into the circle of life a little later, but for now, it's nice to just live in a world where dinosaurs love each other and celebrate the end of the day with berry beverages. Sometimes, the pretend world with you is the nicest part of my world.


Love,
Your Momma

Three Years Old

It's your favorite time of year. That time when everyone gathers to celebrate you. Over and over. And over. I truly believe you must think your birthday is a one week affair involving gifts from anyone who looks your way and cake at every turn. I know you're asking yourself, "What's the problem with that?" And now you are wondering when we are going to institute a one-month celebration of your birthday since this one week thing is barely cutting the mustard.


You were given the option of either Cars or Thomas for your birthday theme this year. Without hesitation you declared a Thomas cake was what you wanted, and so the theme was set. We kicked off birthday week with a small celebration with just you, me, dad and Evan. You got blueberry pancakes for breakfast, followed by swimming at the pool, then a lunch of french fries, chicken fingers for dinner, cupcakes for dessert and a movie to top off the night. That, my friend, is one kicking birthday. But at the end of the day you were asking, "When's my bird-day?" I could tell you just weren't buying that a cupcake with a singing number three candle was it. Your growing brain was telling you there had to be more.


And more there was. The next day was the party you were waiting for, complete with balloons and streamers and chalk drawings on the sidewalk. Your little friends started to arrive and suddenly the world came together, rainbows bursted from the clouds and unicorns danced upon your shoulders. You could not have been happier to see everyone - and their presents - and play with all the new goodies. And then finally, the moment you had waited for in great anticipation for over a month - THE birthday cake. Not one of those dinky little cupcakes like I tried to pawn off on you the night before. The huge, monstrous, you-will-eat-cake-for-nine-more-days Thomas cake of your dreams. Life, as you know it, was complete.


It has been fascinating to watch your progress towards three. You learn so much on a daily basis and I'm stunned by what you retain. You know I drive slowly in playground zones, and I love that if for some other reason I'm driving slow you ask, "Is there a playground zone?" Sort of like a backseat driver but without you even understanding you are being one. You also make me laugh daily with your almost-there language skills. A couple of weeks ago, you ran into my room as I was getting dressed and declared "happier nose".

"You're happy I'm getting on my clothes?" I asked, mildly confused by your statement.

"NO! Happier nose!"

"You're happy your nose is feeling better?" I inquired, sure that the end to your recent cold was making you this level of crazy.

"NO! NO! Happier nose, happier nose!" Your intensity was increasing as was your wild-eyed exasperation with me.

"You're happy to know what?" I asked, grasping for straws.

Hello, camel's back. Meet the straw.

"NOOOOOOOO! HAPPIER NOSE! HAAAAPPPPPIIEEERRR NOOOOSSSE!"

In an effort to end this rather excruciatingly painful conversation, I asked you to please show me what you were talking about. You took my hand and directed me to your LeapPad reader and a sheet of paper that was supposed to go on it. You pointed to a happy face on the sheet and declared, again, "happier nose!"

Clear as mud. Thanks, Rain Man.

I needed this to end. I was half naked and being berated by my child for my foolish inability to decipher his obvious critical need involving a pink LeapPad and picture of a smiley face.

I stuck the sheet in, readjusted the cartridge, played around and finally got the thing to do what is was supposed to. Your smile went ear to ear as you pressed the smiley face on the sheet and the reader started to sing, "If You're Happy and You Know It."

Happier nose. Happy and you know it. Call the president. I've cracked the code.


For as frustrated as we can make each other, I absolutely love this stage in your life, Jack. You are vibrant and excited. You can't wait to get out of bed and get the day started. You absorb new ideas and information and I can only hang on for the ride when you decide to share some of your newly acquired knowledge. If I could keep you at this age, I absolutely would. It is magical. Exhausting, but magical. I'm so proud of you, my little boy. Lately, you often ask me to hug you. As we sit in the chair in your room, you on my lap with your arms wrapped around my neck, I whisper into your ear how special you are, how much I love you, how proud I am every day of the boy you are. You murmur back softly how much you miss me and love me. Oh, Jack. I'd pay any amount of money to have those moments last my lifetime. Happy birthday, my sweet big boy.

You make me a happier nose.


Love,
Your Momma

Thirty-Five Months

As you grow older, you are so unlikely to remember the world one month before your third birthday. But, Jack, this is a historic time in all of our lives. No, I'm not referring to the new season of Lost. I'm talking about a brand new president of the United States. Now, I'm not one for providing my views on much, but this is a time I want to record for you so one day you can look back and appreciate you were part of a monumental change in how we all relate as human beings on this little planet of ours.

Today I am proud to be part of a world that can look beyond the color of a person's skin and judge a person based on their experiences, their contributions, their potential. I am proud to witness this one small step forward for everyone, for any one, to be who they want to be in this life. I am proud to be part of a society that has let go of past hurts, past indignities, past atrocities and is willing to build a future based on what unites us. For each of us, Jack, we will come to a point in our life where we can decide to let go of what has hurt us or hold on to the resentments and hate. Holding on only means holding back. When you come to a time like that, I hope you will choose to look ahead at what can be, not what was. Because what can be is so much more beautiful, Jack.

As a society, I think we finally believe we deserve better for ourselves, for each other. And that is a powerful lesson for everyone, as a nation and as individuals. We deserve better. We will be better. It's a lesson I'm still teaching myself everyday and one I hope you learn for yourself, Jack. When we allow ourselves to believe we can accept less or be less, we fail ourselves. Don't fail yourself. Be the person you want to be and don't let anyone make you believe that anything different is in any way better. I see it in you already. I see your energy, your drive, your strength, your tenderness. Don't lose any of that because someone else sees you differently. You know your true self and your real capabilities. They will take you far in this world, and as I've witnessed today, they will take you anywhere you set your mind.

So, Jack, this month's update isn't as much about you as it is my hopes for you. It just seems appropriate given the state of the world and a nation today that I try to share with you some of the emotion and history that has led us to this point. I am so, so elated I have brought you into a world where we can judge a person based on their merit and not on superficial elements that have no bearing on the kindness of our souls, the intelligence of our minds or the strength of our conviction. I want you to be part of this kind of world. I want you to know you can be whatever and whoever you want to be. And you need to respect that in others.

Keep believing in the inherent good of people, Jack. The world needs so much more of that.

Love,
Your Momma

Thirty-Four Months

Wow, so this Christmas thing is really making sense now, huh? You could not have been more excited to see Christmas come this year. It started with dad hanging the Christmas lights in early December. Every night, you'd ask if we could turn them on. Then came THE TREE. IN YOUR HOUSE. How could something this magical really be happening, you seemed to wonder? Why won't they let me bring pine cones in the house, but then they drag an entire tree inside? What's next? Owls?


We've been trying to explain this Santa concept to you, and nothing really catches except for the bit about presents. Presents resonates with you. Presents define you. Presents are your essence. You quickly decided that of all the things in the whole wide world that you could ask for - a pony, a dancing monkey, that elusive gum we never let you have - that you would ask for trains. TRAINS? I was so shocked to hear this. You mean that thing you constantly talk about? Exult? Covet? Oh, THAT train. My hopes of having Barbies in the house were once again wiped out.

We've been trying to slowly work you up towards seeing Santa this year. Last year, well, you mostly just cried as soon as you realized he was holding you. But this year we got onto Mission Tolerate Santa a lot sooner. As we happened past his reindeer-laden lair at the mall, we'd casually mention, "Oh, there is Santa. Seems like a pretty nice guy, hey?" You'd feign interest for a few moments, but then begin to fixate on the giant rotating trees. Understandably. After all our efforts to ready you for Santa, you finally had the chance to see him at your preschool party. Kids were excited and happy and singing. You were pretty happy until he walked three feet in front of you. Then the reality of voluntarily conversing with a chubby, slightly sweaty man with overgrown facial hair set in. You finally, finally got up the courage to sit on his lap after almost all the other kids had done so. When you did, you sat very purposefully at the very edge of his knee should you need to suddenly spring off to protect yourself from his...niceness? Gift giving? Candy canes? I don't know. Regardless, without looking at him even once, you quickly mumbled "I want trains for Christmas" and then leaped off. Hey, at least it's progress!

The night before Christmas we laid out cookies and milk for Santa, and I wasn't sure how you would react to the idea of THAT MAN coming into your house while you were sleeping. Apparently, what concerned you most was that he was eating the last of your sugar cookies. Dude, I get it. I'm a nasty wreck when I figure out your dad has eaten my Mesquite BBQ Kettle Chips. You were stupefied the next morning when they were gone, but quickly became far too distracted by the massive presents under the tree for you. I'm not sure how Santa managed to bring a train village large enough to cover Tijuana and 347 train engines for you, but that man deserves a prize.


You have come to enjoy singing and this year have really latched on to certain Christmas carols. Jingle Bells has easily become your favorite. And what I like is that you don't feel the need to learn any other words to the song other than those two. You just repeat them over and over to the tune, often times at around 6:03AM and often at the top of your voice. You also like to demand your dad and I sing you a particular song like some dictatorial little king of carol requests.

"Sing snowman song!"

We've quickly realized that:
a) We don't know the words to the vast majority of carols
b) You don't either
c) We can make it up

"He traveled through the streets of town...and didn't want to stop...and then gave a broomstick to the cop...Jingle Bells, hey."


Until this year, I didn't really get it when people said how the holidays become so different when you have children. But to watch your amazement as we drive past homes with their Christmas lights on or see you brim with excitement as you talk about each of the ornaments on the tree, I now get it. It is a magical time, Jack. A time when the world slows down, appreciates a snow fall on a cold night and drinks hot chocolate just because it feels nice. I love that I get to revel in those moments with you and make new memories for our little family. That is my Christmas blessing.

Love,
Your Momma