Thursday, November 18, 2010

Month Thirty-seven

Dear Henry,

Oh, my dear, dear boy. You, as my grandma would say, are a pill. Not all of the time, thankfully. I realize this is the age when you test your parents in order to figure out your boundaries, but oy vey, my little one. Of course, this makes all your angelic moments more lovely and appreciated than they would otherwise be. That's the bright side, glass half full take on the situation.

The month began with you bestowing certain powers on the birthday banner that hung in the dining room. For instance, the birthday banner, you'd say, said it wasn't time for bed, and also that you could have a chocolate. Go figure. Needless to say, we took that banner down. We mustn't have our parental authority superseded by a banner made of paper, tape, and string. You are still talking, and there is a randomness to your stories that is fascinating. Your mind moves very fast, Bean. I'll do my best to keep up.

Your quest to gain independence continues. Every day you're getting better at taking your shoes off and on and changing your clothes - darn those shirts of yours - and feeding yourself and doing all things on your own. This does not mean that we don't still come and help you wipe your butt but we're getting there, son. And when we do there will be one glorious celebration. If we had to put it in percentages, I'd say the sleep chart works about fifty percent of the time. I fear the reason it isn't more effective is because you already have so many cool things to play with, who cares if you get another toy, right? It might make more sense to offer up candy canes as the prize because these you love with a passion.

You scooter down the hall because you learned how to escape the confines of the condo. We have not yet received any complaints but I am expecting one any day. Don't fret, though, mama will fight for your right to scooter. Scootering, by the way, is another skill you've nearly mastered. I knew it would all come together once you figured out how to turn. And it has. You zoom down the hall. You zoom down the road. You zoom.

My favorite toddler sayings this month include the "ah welcome" (for "you're welcome"), "supermans don't fart" (because it's important to note that supermans in the plural don't pass gas), and "the windows are foxy" (which I hear whenever I turn on the defogger in the car). You're not quite ready for Vegas because you don't quite get gambling or stakes or numbers. When you want to, say, play with the iPad, I'll tell you that you can have it for 15 minutes and then you'll hold up five fingers and demand that you get five minutes worth of time. Perhaps at the heart of it you're a true negotiator. You want to reach a settlement for the sake of having an agreement, not necessarily because you come out the victor. This may be your first leanings towards a career as a prosecutor. But since your love of all things construction remains strong, I won't hold my breath.

On the manipulative side of parenting, we can get you to do pretty much anything we ask by framing our request with a superhero connection. We want you to wear a particular set of pajamas, guess what, those pajamas are superhero pajamas. Oh, and plaque monsters. These were developed to convince you to brush your teeth every morning and night. You are awesome at scouring these monstery dudes from your mouth. You wake nearly every night and walk all the way into our bedroom so that we can take you to your bathroom (that you passed on the way to our room) to go potty.

I loves you all the way from the top of your head to the tips of your superman toes, Bean. 


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