Month Thirty
Dear Jasper,
I realized midway through today that thirty months means you’re officially two and a half, so I can stop telling people you’re almost two and a half and just keep it real and tell them that’s the case.
A lot has happened in the last month (or two) since I’ve written a letter to you. Let’s break it down, and then take it case by case. You started preschool and then stopped it. You and your dad came to a wedding with me for the first time ever, and it totally rocked my world. You also entered into the phase of your life in which you ask questions, all the time, about all kinds of things. You’ve started.. “making up stories” to be nice about it, but what I really mean to say is that every so often you tell me something that is totally not true, and neither your dad or I are sure if you’re doing it on purpose (probably) or not. In between all of these are five hundred other things I want to remember so… let’s dig in!
So, the preschool thing. Your dad and I have been going back and forth about whether or not you should go to preschool for what feels like forever now. We had decided that yes, you should, but maybe not until you were 3 or 3 1/2 when an opportunity at a school we really loved fell into our laps and we took it… even though you weren’t even 2 1/2. We both felt like you weren’t really emotionally ready, but we thought that it might be good to at least SEE how it goes. Well… cut to you dissolving into three hour-long tantrums, a few night terrors, and appearing totally stressed out after two weeks of preschool and we decided to cut our losses and pull you out. It took you two weeks to get back to your sunny, mellow, sweet self, but you did and we’re all the better for it. I’m not sorry that we tried preschool, because you never know until you try, but I am sorry that it may have stressed out you way more than you ever need to be.
In news that is totally way more awesome, you met Curious George AGAIN this month. He came to a breakfast at the kid’s science center here and you thought it was one of the coolest things in the world. I knew about it a few weeks before it actually happened, but didn’t want to tell you in case something came up and it didn’t pan out — so you knew the day of we were going to the science center to eat breakfast, which seemed exciting enough. You saw some George-themed decor when we got there, but we still didn’t say anything lest we find out your favorite monkey friend wasn’t going to make it. We confirmed (and double-confirmed) with the people working before telling you, and the giddiness that ran through your body (you literally shook with excitement) when you spied George and The Man In the Yellow Hat was basically… one of the cooler things I’ve witnessed with you.
Later that day, you and your dad finally (finally!) got to come to a wedding with me. You were invited guests, which made it even more rad, and you both dressed your parts. I was so excited to have you there, but not nearly as excited as you were about going! to! a! wedding! Even though you had no idea what a wedding was, and weren’t exactly sure who you were going to see getting married. I’m pretty sure now if I talk about Mary’s wedding you know exactly what I’m on about, and that weddings are these magical music and love-filled events where everyone’s happy and you get to dance, because you keep asking when you can go again.
Speaking of asking, let’s talk about this. Everyone tells you when you have a kid that at some point he or she is going to ask you questions. Ask and ask and ask, all the time. Some of my favorite questions of yours have been:
“Am I here?”
“Why is the sky blue?”
“Does the wind have a mouth?”
“Why do people throw trash on the Earth?”
“What is that sound?” (and then when we ask you what you think it is, you always respond with something)
One of the cooler things is that you really asked why the sky is blue. I’m pretty sure that’s one of the stereotypical “your kid will ask you this” kind of things, and you totally pulled it out after reading a book with your dad. I never expected to be googling so much at this point in your life (because I really wasn’t sure why the sky is blue at first, but now I know all about it. Light scattering. Intense.), but I’m glad that we both are. I’m so happy that you’re so curious about the world, and into learning every single day.
Right now your favorite library books to read are Good Night, Baby Bear and Jazz Baby. Jazz Baby has been a favorite for months, ever since the first time we brought it home. Good Night, Baby Bear is one of those very perfect Frank Asch books that the three of us can never get enough of. You’ve started calling yourself Baby Bear and calling me Mama Bear, and when it’s time for your nap or for bedtime you say we need to get into our cozy, warm cave to sleep. You don’t really like to be rocked anymore — we usually read books with you in the rocking chair, and then tuck you into bed while you drift off. Sometimes you like us to lay with you and sometimes you don’t — all of this is a huge departure from how you used to go to sleep up until a month or so ago, so I’ve got to point it out. It’s cool, but a little surprising how quickly you went from rocking for thirty minutes to not rocking at all.
You also really love to play a game with your dad we call the milk carton thief. It basically consists of your dad putting an empty milk carton on the table or counter and then very loudly commenting that he hopes no milk carton thieves take it away. Of course, this is your cue to giggle madly and take the carton off the table and then run around the room with while your dad chases you. It’s a pretty great game, and also a pretty easy one, and something that’s fun (to us) to see.
We having an awesome, fantastic time with you, Monkey Man. I’m so happy to know you.
Love,
Mama
I realized midway through today that thirty months means you’re officially two and a half, so I can stop telling people you’re almost two and a half and just keep it real and tell them that’s the case.
A lot has happened in the last month (or two) since I’ve written a letter to you. Let’s break it down, and then take it case by case. You started preschool and then stopped it. You and your dad came to a wedding with me for the first time ever, and it totally rocked my world. You also entered into the phase of your life in which you ask questions, all the time, about all kinds of things. You’ve started.. “making up stories” to be nice about it, but what I really mean to say is that every so often you tell me something that is totally not true, and neither your dad or I are sure if you’re doing it on purpose (probably) or not. In between all of these are five hundred other things I want to remember so… let’s dig in!
So, the preschool thing. Your dad and I have been going back and forth about whether or not you should go to preschool for what feels like forever now. We had decided that yes, you should, but maybe not until you were 3 or 3 1/2 when an opportunity at a school we really loved fell into our laps and we took it… even though you weren’t even 2 1/2. We both felt like you weren’t really emotionally ready, but we thought that it might be good to at least SEE how it goes. Well… cut to you dissolving into three hour-long tantrums, a few night terrors, and appearing totally stressed out after two weeks of preschool and we decided to cut our losses and pull you out. It took you two weeks to get back to your sunny, mellow, sweet self, but you did and we’re all the better for it. I’m not sorry that we tried preschool, because you never know until you try, but I am sorry that it may have stressed out you way more than you ever need to be.
In news that is totally way more awesome, you met Curious George AGAIN this month. He came to a breakfast at the kid’s science center here and you thought it was one of the coolest things in the world. I knew about it a few weeks before it actually happened, but didn’t want to tell you in case something came up and it didn’t pan out — so you knew the day of we were going to the science center to eat breakfast, which seemed exciting enough. You saw some George-themed decor when we got there, but we still didn’t say anything lest we find out your favorite monkey friend wasn’t going to make it. We confirmed (and double-confirmed) with the people working before telling you, and the giddiness that ran through your body (you literally shook with excitement) when you spied George and The Man In the Yellow Hat was basically… one of the cooler things I’ve witnessed with you.
Later that day, you and your dad finally (finally!) got to come to a wedding with me. You were invited guests, which made it even more rad, and you both dressed your parts. I was so excited to have you there, but not nearly as excited as you were about going! to! a! wedding! Even though you had no idea what a wedding was, and weren’t exactly sure who you were going to see getting married. I’m pretty sure now if I talk about Mary’s wedding you know exactly what I’m on about, and that weddings are these magical music and love-filled events where everyone’s happy and you get to dance, because you keep asking when you can go again.
Speaking of asking, let’s talk about this. Everyone tells you when you have a kid that at some point he or she is going to ask you questions. Ask and ask and ask, all the time. Some of my favorite questions of yours have been:
“Am I here?”
“Why is the sky blue?”
“Does the wind have a mouth?”
“Why do people throw trash on the Earth?”
“What is that sound?” (and then when we ask you what you think it is, you always respond with something)
One of the cooler things is that you really asked why the sky is blue. I’m pretty sure that’s one of the stereotypical “your kid will ask you this” kind of things, and you totally pulled it out after reading a book with your dad. I never expected to be googling so much at this point in your life (because I really wasn’t sure why the sky is blue at first, but now I know all about it. Light scattering. Intense.), but I’m glad that we both are. I’m so happy that you’re so curious about the world, and into learning every single day.
Right now your favorite library books to read are Good Night, Baby Bear and Jazz Baby. Jazz Baby has been a favorite for months, ever since the first time we brought it home. Good Night, Baby Bear is one of those very perfect Frank Asch books that the three of us can never get enough of. You’ve started calling yourself Baby Bear and calling me Mama Bear, and when it’s time for your nap or for bedtime you say we need to get into our cozy, warm cave to sleep. You don’t really like to be rocked anymore — we usually read books with you in the rocking chair, and then tuck you into bed while you drift off. Sometimes you like us to lay with you and sometimes you don’t — all of this is a huge departure from how you used to go to sleep up until a month or so ago, so I’ve got to point it out. It’s cool, but a little surprising how quickly you went from rocking for thirty minutes to not rocking at all.
You also really love to play a game with your dad we call the milk carton thief. It basically consists of your dad putting an empty milk carton on the table or counter and then very loudly commenting that he hopes no milk carton thieves take it away. Of course, this is your cue to giggle madly and take the carton off the table and then run around the room with while your dad chases you. It’s a pretty great game, and also a pretty easy one, and something that’s fun (to us) to see.
We having an awesome, fantastic time with you, Monkey Man. I’m so happy to know you.
Love,
Mama
