Friday, March 18, 2011

Month Forty-one

Dear Henry,

This past month you learned how to pick up the cats. Oh. Dear. God. Our poor, poor kitty cats. Don't get me wrong you are ever so careful. Certainly, it can be said that when you nab them to move them from a higher location to a lower one, things go more smoothly than when it's the reverse. You weigh more than twice what they do (individually not combined) but it is definitely a struggle for you and awkward and uncomfortable for them. Knowing you have this skill, though, means you're more interested in the cats. They don't get much rest unless they find a high enough place to lie down, typically this is in the cupboard over the fridge.
We have begun working in workbooks. Initially, I don't think you were all that thrilled with the prospect but you certainly enjoy the highly focused attention you get when we sit at the table. Your coloring is beginning to look as if you might eventually find and respect the lines on the page. You are on your way to understanding all your prepositions. And even your grip on the pencil is more natural. You know how to spell your name but you can't write it, yet. On a related note, we've decided on a preschool. Woohoo! While I'm a touch sad that you're not starting out your official learning by becoming a Francophile, I think you're going to be immensely happy.
Papa took you skiing and you were awesome! How adorable are kids in little snowsuits whipping down the mountain. (Answer: Very, extremely, a lot.) You were very brave and extremely disappointed that we wouldn't let you go down the big mountain all by yourself. If memory serves you only had one or two falls and one very close near miss (when papa did let you ski by yourself for a bit). You are very cautious most times but with skiing, well, I think you might be like your mama and have a little bit of the tuck and run in your blood. You're welcome. There's nothing like speed, Bean. Wait. Speed as in velocity, not speed as in the drug. On another sports-related note, you learned how to steer your scooter. Now you want to scooter all the time. All the time, son, rain or shine. And we live in Oregon. Just sayin'.
Other happenings include a sleepover with your Cousin Mia. You guys were awesome! Thanks to some primo parenting advice from a friend we ended up separating the two of you around bedtime and you both went to sleep within the hour. Awesome! And quite an improvement given that the last (and first) time you went to a sleepover you boys were up until past 1 a.m. Speaking of sleep, my second big sewing project was a pair of flannel Batman pajama pants. Happy does not begin to describe your reaction to seeing and trying on those pants. It was as if Batman himself stopped by to say "Howdy!"
You give the greatest hugs. You are passionate about trucks and dinosaurs and superheroes and firefighters. You like to kick soccer balls and run and hide under the covers and laugh. You think it's funny when I smell your stinky toes and then talk about how incredibly, horribly stinky they are. You like to take long baths until the water is tepid and your fingers are pruney. You request peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for breakfast (and usually get 'em).
Of course, I must mention the five days you spent with your pops while I traveled to the Mexico! You adjusted to the parental shift with aplomb, as did your papa. The two of you were busy with activities and play dates and hanging with grandpa and scootering and driving around town and stopping at Bertie Lou's for breakfast. When you and your papa called - the phone wasn't working and we were unable to call out for the first day and a half - I didn't recognize your voice. You're nearly three and a half years old and that was the first time you and I had ever talked on the phone. And then I came home and you were sitting on your dad's lap at the airport and I got to pick you up and give you a huge hug. It was awesome. I mean, going away was cool, but coming home to you guys was so much better.


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