Friday, February 18, 2011

Month Forty

Dear Henry,
Well, would you look at that. Another month has already passed us by! You just aren't going to slow down, are you? I suppose that's a good thing, although I am seriously going to have to get my butt in shape if I want a snowball's chance in Hell of keeping up with you? Are you allowed to write the word "Hell" in a letter to your nearly three and a half year old son? Oh well, it's not like you haven't been exposed to, um, bad language before. I'll blame that on society's pressure to have a verbal reaction when experiencing road rage, which I do. Quite often. Mostly because we now drive you to and from various activities throughout the week. We have you signed up for swimming (again, you're now a Penguin!), soccer, gymnastics, and last week you requested the Hip Hop dance class. And we've been spending a whole lot of time at Playdate PDX. What's not to like about a place with a huge indoor climbing structure, three super fast slides, and a separate area that is designed for and encourages throwing foam balls at each other?
You have imaginary friends. The good owls are my favorite. I'm not sure what they are doing in our condo but they are good so I don't worry too much about it. During a recent visit to the mall you found a new friend, the kind you want to carry with you and that you talk about all of the time. His name is Perry. He's a platypus. "They don't do much." He's a character in the Phineas & Ferb cartoon you've started watching because, yes, we've slackened our t.v. viewing rules a bit more. It doesn't help that the iPad makes it so incredibly easy for you to find things. Darn YouTube. Every once in awhile I'll leave you for a few seconds to go and finish up one chore or another and you'll be watching a Disney clip of the chipmunks, and by the time I get back, you're watching something totally inappropriate. Perhaps this is why they recommend parents don't leave their kids alone when watching t.v. I mean, I knew we were in trouble when I heard Robin ask Batman if the outfit he was wearing made him "look gay". Oy vey. I shall work on being more vigilant. Also, it's totally okay to be gay. And certainly okay to dress as if you were gay, since that stereotype is a nice one about how gay folks always dress so awesomely. And have clean houses. And usually know how to decorate, accessorize, and cook really good yuppie food.
My sewing class is now over and you are sporting an oh-so-chic (if I do say so myself, and I do) Spiderman apron around the kitchen these days. You are quite the sous chef. I'm sure there are a million and one reasons why it isn't a good idea to put a toddler near the gas flame on a stovetop but you don't seem intimidated at all. Boiling water doesn't scare you, either. And you're quite helpful. Also, you don't complain one iota when I give you a butter knife and ask you to chop carrots with me. I sort of feel bad when I see how hard you're really trying to cut and how often you resort to a rather sad sawing motion to get through the carrot. But, you know, it's not like I can give you a real kitchen knife. We have to save something for when you're four.
We are slowly introducing chores into your life. You've been feeding Beauty the wonder dog and the cats for a bit. Now you also set the table. Well, you are setting the table if you use the loosest definition of set the table. I hand you the silverware and you place it around the table. And I hand you napkins and you sort of fan those out on the table. And I hand you, well, you get the idea. Eventually all the things that need to be are on the table, and that's thanks to all your hard work. Plus, you love, love, love to clean the glass coffee table and the sliding glass doors, or more accurately the bottom third of the sliding glass doors since I suck at follow through and usually don't clean the areas you can't reach. I'm certain if I let you, you would carry that spray bottle everywhere and spray it on everything.
We now walk the monsters in our condo to the door before bed time. Not every night because sometimes the monsters are already asleep or have left of their own accord, but it's something your pops and I are required to help out with from time to time. We have a pet spider, Alfred, that has moved in. He's nice. We saw him on the t.v. and a few days later in the kitchen. You've seen a couple spiders since meeting Alfred and they are all Alfreds, too. I like your method of categorization. It's easy and just makes sense - once an Alfred spider, always an Alfred spider. You have taken to singing Five Little Monkeys and it doesn't matter what you are doing at the time, which is usually playing with garbage trucks or trains or bugs. I like to think your budding empathy is further proof we won't end up being the parents of a serial killer. After your first swim class of this session, you held an imaginary blue crab in your hand and explained that it needed a glass of water so it could "swim and be happy". You truly are a great kid. Could you be better about going to bed? Yes. Absolutely. Sure. But if you did that then what would I have to complain about to all my friends? Keep up the good growing, Bean.


1 comment:

Megan said...

Lovely letter, as usual.

I think you should ask RHG about her mom and naming of birds. Your Alfred story reminded me of that.