casa de kaloi

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

Month Twenty-Eight

Dear Jasper,

HEY YOU.




I want to take a sec to document something: today we spent twenty or so minutes in the very cold waters of your inflatable pool. It wasn’t unlike other times we have spent in your pool, but today you were particularly excited and splashed a great deal. After you learned to splash on the count of three, you sat down in the water.

“Sit down, Mama, please,” you asked.

So I sat. And then,

“Mama, waiting for the bus. Mama and Jasper wait for the bus. Wait for the bus boat.”

And.. I just loved this.

I think I may have missed last month (sorry!), but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t realize it was a monthly birthday. Some days are crazier than others, and I have a feeling last month was probably crazy.

Speaking of having feelings, one of your favorite songs right now is “I’ve Got a Feeling” by The Beatles. You also love “Dig A Pony,” and yesterday you walked around our living room with a spoon, digging at the floor. When I asked what you were doing, you replied, “I am digging a pony.”

Indeed.




I think it’s funny how your favorite Beatles album is Let It Be Naked — you know, not even the actual Let It Be that came out in 1970. Nooo, you’re already starting on your music geekness early, and you’re a fan of the stripped down version, you know, “the way it was meant to be.”

I have’t always been the biggest fan of “The Long and Winding Road.” This is relevant because we listened to it the other day and at the end you solemnly stated, “That was very nice.” And it’s not that I don’t like the song, but I always felt like it was such a production. After hearing your response, I considered what you said the next time we listened to it, and I must say: I do agree. It is very nice.

This whole speaking-in-sentences thing is every bit as mind-blowing as parents of older kids have told me it would be. You have your favorite phrases that you repeat (one of them is “Look at this mess I made” and that is usually follows up by me realizing you’ve smashed graham crackers into your hair or poured your 3/4 water, 1/4 apple juice mixed drink down your shirt), but you also just pull words out of nowhere and string them together. You’re also into expressing what you do and don’t like — the other night you were eating your beans and broccoli and suddenly looked up at us, stating, “This food is GOOD!” You repeated that sentiment for food that Mimi (our roomie Kim) made, so I think you’ve got your tastes down.




I realize this is a little heavy on the Beatles side (we can’t even discuss how crazy it is that you have an Aunt Mimi, a la Mr. Lennon, because then I get edgy about what happened to HIS mom and you know), but today you told us you were pretending to be Ringo. I mean, seriously, that came out of your mouth: “I am being Ringo.” And then you drummed while Reeves (Mimi’s boyfriend) played guitar, and you guys both grinned at each other like you’re accomplices in some kind of sideways British-humor-laced caper flick.

The other evening you and I had a Mom-Jazz date at the movies. It was your first time to really see a movie in theaters (we took you to one of the Harry Potters, but you were like..four months old), and we went to see Winnie the Pooh. I honestly had NO IDEA how you would behave — would you sit for the movie? Would you run around like you’re wild? The answer is a little bit of both. We spent the twenty or so minutes before the movie walking around outside, and then inside, the theater. After moseying down to the actual room we’d be in, I followed you around while you occasionally glanced at the screen during particularly interesting commercials. There was one for Mountain Dew that seemed to really fascinate you, but it makes sense — it’s brightly colored and has a guy riding a bicycle in it. Talk about Jasper HEAVEN.

I would remind you when the movie started we had to sit down, and you would repeat “Movie starts, sit down,” but I wasn’t sure it was really sinking in. Lo and behold, the first preview screen came up and you sat down in a seat (with some assistance) and began watching. You giggled and clapped through the previews, and when the movie began you whispered, “Mama, it’s starting.”

You then sat through a solid fifty-five of the sixty-nine minutes of the movie, and were happy to remain sitting for the rest of it once you had graham crackers. I can’t tell you how crazy happy I was to share a cinematic experience with you, and to have it go over so well — I’m a gigantic fan of going to the movies, and I’m glad that it seems like you like it.

I think concerts are next for us, friend.

Your latest ambitions include being an astronaut (and/or just going to the moon), calling the trash man on the telephone, and seeing the ocean. Luckily for you, one of these is in your immediate future. I’m not so sure about the other two, but we’ll do our best.




I love you so, so much.

Love,
Mama

Month Twenty-Six

Dear Jasper,

Today you are twenty-six months old. If you don’t want to do the math, that means you’re two years and two months old. I personally hope you had no problem doing the math, since it’s pretty easy math. In fact, if you’re reading this and you’re all “Thanks, Mom, for laying it out for me because I really wasn’t feeling like working it out on my own,” you need to shut off the computer and study your math.

This last month has been, like so many are, tremendous. You’re speaking actual sentences now, you can hold conversations and keep the same train of thought going. You laugh when other people laugh, and you’re learning that it’s not always polite to interrupt other conversations. However, you’re also aware of the fact that we like to ask your opinion on things. And, you know, you’re two, so you pretty much interject whatever you want into most conversations that happen around you.

You’ve learned that a request that begins or ends with “please” will get you everywhere in this house, which also explains why Ra Ra (Stephen) keeps finding himself reading books to you five minutes after he wakes up and comes downstairs. Every. Single. Morning. It’s awfully hard to resist a little two-year-old dude who is walking up to you, saying “Read book please, read book please” and looking all hungry for knowledge that you can provide, you know.

Last weekend while I was working (oh, you’re so sweet when I have to leave to go to shoot a wedding or work, always waving with a “Bye, Mama!”), your dad took you to work with him for a few hours. He had to set up the sound for a Bangladeshi performance that was taking place. Since there was going to be lots of singing and dancing, he figured you’d dig it. Turns out, he was completely right. There was also a square dance competition going on nearby that he had to check on, and you guys went back and forth between the two. It was on this day that you learned the word “show” and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me so GIDDY that you associate “show” with a performance, like going out to see a show, instead of with something you see on television. It also makes me giddy to think about one day in the maybe-not-too-distant future we can do things like take you to other performances and shows, and in the more-distant future, to ballet or theater productions.

In fact, last night we took you to another show — your dad was working at a preschool graduation and we thought you’d think it was fun. It turns out you did — you were all about clapping and dancing and singing while the kids were on stage — but you really loved what happened after everyone left. We let you get on-stage, and you immediately ran up to a microphone (“mike-phooone”), grabbed it with one hand, and started singing into it. Your dad turned the microphone and the stage lights on, along with “Hakuna Matata,” and you proceeded to “sing” along (you mostly sang “TATATA” over and over again) in between dancing spurts. I daresay there’s a bit of a performer in you, kid.

I’d like to commend you on how you’ve handled The Sid Situation. Not too long ago, we were letting you watch Sid the Science Kid three or four times a day — basically with every meal. We knew this wasn’t healthy, because it encourages pretty rotten eating habits, but you love Sid so much that we felt evil trying to take it away. However, it dawned on us that four times a day is over an hour of TV that you’re watching, so we switched it up. Now, we all three sit together and watch one episode before breakfast. Every so often you and I will cuddle after you wake up from your nap and watch fifteen or so minutes of Curious George 2 — because you, friend, are a gigantic Curious George fan.

The Curious George is hilarious and wonderfully sweet. We bought you a collection of Curious George stories when we were living in Portland and you were in the NICU — it was the one and only time that your did and I decided to go out at night while you were staying in the hospital. We had absolutely no reason to pick George — neither of us could remember being gigantic fans — and the book sat on the shelf for the first twenty-two or so months of your life. One day someone pulled it down, and we started reading. Since then, an entire world of Curious George has been opened up to you, to the point that your dad and I regularly contemplate driving ten hours so you can go to a Curious George exhibit at a museum, or spend a good bit of time looking for free episodes online. You have several Curious George books now, and every day before you nap, I sing a song to you about how Curious George and The Man in the Yellow Hat like to ride on buses.

The songs are actually something I also want to note — your naptime songs are so crazy right now. Every day when we sit in the rocking chair after reading four or five stories and books, you say “George, Man, Hat, pink, bus” or something along those lines, and I begin singing about how George likes to ride on a pink bus, the Man in the Yellow Hat likes to ride on a pink bus, Jasper likes to ride on a pink bus, Mama likes to ride on a pink bus…and so on, until we’ve named everyone that you know. This doesn’t just include people you’ve met — you ask me to sing about “Big George” (George Harrison), “Baby George” (Dhani Harrison, who you learned about in the car one day while we were listening to Fistful of Mercy), and “Bob,” who is Bob Dylan. Sometimes you ask me to sing about Bob’s red shoes (I have no idea if he has red shoes) or Baby George’s purple bus. After we go through this song a time or two, we switch to the alphabet. I have NO IDEA how singing the alphabet became the thing that puts you to sleep during the day, but it is and it does.

You’re showing us that you’re more grown up in so many ways. A few weeks ago we took you to a dimly-lit Thai restaurant — at night — and you sat through an entire forty-five (or so) minute meal without raising a fuss. We were nervous, because every other time we’ve tried to take you into a semi-swanky establishment you’ve ended up throwing food in some stranger’s hair, but you ate your rice and your tofu (which you call “SOY CHEESE!!!” with gusto) and were incredibly polite the entire time. I don’t know where I’m really going with this other than to say: thanks for that one. We needed that food, dude.

I love you I love you I love you. I love all twenty-six months of you.

Love,

Mama

Month Twenty-Four.

Dear Jasper,

Let’s take a second to talk about this one.

Today, dude, you turned two years old. You began your day in the sweetest of ways, rolling back and forth between your dad and I in bed, saying “Mama” and then kissing me, then “Dada” and kissing him, and so on and so forth. This is one of your favorite things to do now — sometimes you go back and forth between us, giving hugs each time, for about ten minutes before you move on to something else. You have so much love inside of you, and we’re thrilled to the recipients of it.

We had birthday party for you today, and lemme just put it this way: MAN. THAT was something else. I’m not sure what I thought having eight to ten kids under four and their parents/friends in our pretty small living room would be like, but it was…pretty surreal. You were pretty stoked to hang with your Nana, periodically checking in with your dad and I while we scurried and hurried and snacked. Everyone gave you lots and lots of love, even when you were feeling unsure and a little shy, and perhaps more so during those times. As the guests filed out toward the end of the two-hour fest, you opened up a lot, and by the time only one or two kids were left, you were down for playing with anyone and anything.

Unlike last year, when you curiously picked at your cupcake before rubbing it in your hair, this year you wanted NOTHING to do with your cakes. Yes, cakes. I made two, both modeled after buses. One was designed after the Merry Prankster bus, and another after a school bus. What I failed to factor in is that you would perceive the buses as TOYS, something you could push around and perhaps let your toy people ride in, and you were pretty much pissed off when you stuck your fingers into one of the cakes and icing came back out on your hand. I asked if you wanted to eat a piece of the bus, and you said yes, but then protested when it was actually put in front of you. In fact, you didn’t eat anything at all the entire party, putting a full seven hours between lunch and dinner, which kind of blew our minds a little bit.

I’m trying to avoid the “OH MY GOSH, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE TWO” letter that I’m sure you expect to read, but seriously, Jazz. Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re two. I can, because I distinctly remember when you were born, and it makes sense to me, theoretically, that it was two years ago, but when I think about everything that’s been jam-packed into a two-year period…it simultaneously feels like I’ve known you forever and hardly long enough.

It’s sometimes so incredibly difficult to describe what it’s like to be a parent. I feel like I flounder around often, trying to find the correct words. You know I didn’t take any photos today? I took a few of you before your party, but none of the actual event. This surprised me initially, considering my penchant for snapping pretty much every moment of your life, but I was pleased that I was so caught up in you and your birthday and what was happening to think of it. There were a few moments in which I held my camera, and I think I even carried it from one side of the room to the other at one point, but it’s nice to know that I can lose myself in a day such as this.

I’m rambling, kid. I’m sure by the time you’re reading this, you’ll already know it happens quite a bit.

You are, simply put, the sweetest kid on the block. I don’t know that for certain, because I haven’t met most of the kids who live around us, but you are sugary sweet. You as a two-year-old has so far been precious.

I love you,

Mama.

Month Twenty-Three

Dear Jasper,

Hey, friend. I love saying that we are friends, that we are best friends, that we get each other in a way that no one else really can. Your dad is close to us both, for sure, but I think you and I will always have this special little bond that comes when you spend so much time around someone else.

Today was an awesome day, and more specifically, this afternoon was truly great. You’ve been having a rough few days, mostly due to those gigantic second year molars that are jutting through your gums, and neither of us have had any idea what kind of mood you’ll be in from one minute to the next. Yesterday you were particularly close to me, not wanting me to leave the room or walk away at all. You were also feverish and exhausted, and I totally understood your need to cuddle and chill. Today, on the other hand, you were back to your mischievous self.

Your favorite activity by FAR right now is throwing bits of mulch, wood, or rocks into any body of water in your vicinity. You. Love. This. We spent nearly an hour the other day at a small pond in a garden — I alternated between walking around, talking to you, and pointing out flowers, and you very intently spent most of your time scooping up pebbles and dropping them into the water. Tonight we were at an outdoor mall, which is also one of your favorite places in the world. It happens to have PLENTY of mulch and quite a few fountains, so you can guess where we spent most of our time. In fact, I had to lure you home with the promise of watching Star Wars, and only when I mentioned the film(s) did you cease crying and start smiling again.

You continue to be my favorite dance partner, though you frequently engage in solo performances. Your favorite tunes are always pretty consistent (“My Sweet Lord,” “It Don’t Come Easy,” “Maybe I’m Amazed,” “Oh Yoko!,” and “California Dreamin’”) though you do surprise us with some choices (the second-tier faves are usually “20 Feet Tall,” and anything by David Bowie or Michael Jackson). I love that you have quite an awesome spin going on, that you do it all the time, and that you are a the cutest tiny dancer in the world. And that the previous sentence really makes no sense, except it kind of does.

So, you, my little Jedi-in-Training, my little Soul Man, you are quite spectacular indeed. I’m still tripping out over the fact that you turn TWO (two!) next month, in exactly a month, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it, as I have gotten used to each of the twenty-three months of your life. What’s one more? I hope to see and share many, many more of them.

I love you,

Mama

Month Twenty-Two.

Dear Jasper,

Your letter is two days late this month, something that I’m totally not going to try to hide. I’ll be honest — I don’t REALLY think you’ll care if I try to hide it or not, but just for the record: I’m not.

Throughout the day today I told several people that I have an “almost two-year-old.” An almost two-year-old. Say it with me again: almost two. There’s really no other way to state the obvious, which is that you are almost two, and this more than almost trips me out.

I usually spend these letters going on and on about how wonderful you are, all the new things you’re doing, and how it’s so fantastic to know you, and all of these things are true, but I’m not going to do that this time. We three shared a fantastic three and a half minutes while “Colours” by Donovan played today, and I happened to have a camera on hand (imagine that!) to capture part of it. I love these photos, these seconds, so incredibly much, and I think they more or less perfectly summarize you as this age:

I hope I never cease to marvel at how perfect you are. I hope I never forget these three and a half minutes. I hope you are able to retain at least a bit of your sweet, sweet charm and curiosity, your love and your joy, and that you can also help others see and live it.

I love you,

Mama.

Month Twenty-One

Dear Jasper,

Here is what I love about you at this age:

Month Twenty.

Dear Jasper,

I was totally going to try to get out of this tonight. I’m not feeling well, which is the result of this completely foul cold you’ve shared with me, and since I don’t have any photos of you from today anyway, I was all “What’s the harm in waiting another day to write his letter?”

The harm is, of course, that while everyone else might not have noticed, I would know that today was actually the day you turned twenty months old. Twenty months, in case you haven’t put it together yet, is four months short of twenty-four, and that means you’re very nearly almost two years old. This in and of itself amazes me, as it’s incredible that it was almost two years ago that you joined our family outside of the womb.

This last month has been quite exciting and fun, as you’re really defining your personality and who you are, all twenty months of you. We’re enjoying nearly every aspect of it, except for the times that you get frustrated or confused and decide to scream about it. Those times aren’t the best, but at the end of the day, we’re still happy to spend them with you.

One of your favorite things to do right now is to spin in circles while saying “Aaaaaah!” This is crazy entertaining to both you and me, and to anyone else who sees it. The number of times you and I done this during the day is probably obscene, but it’s ok, because it’s our thing. Kind of like getting muffins at story time, even though I know all of the other parents are going to give me dirty looks for giving my kid a sugary delight that theirs will want. I know this, but I do it anyway, because it’s our weekly thing. It’s what we do, how we hang.

You’re speaking ALL THE TIME now. All the time. We can’t always understand what you’re saying exactly, but your delivery is precious and priceless and makes me really wish we could. You can nail some Sean Kaloi looks, kid. You have your dad’s face all over, with a heaping of my cheeks and smile (we think, sometimes it looks so much like his), and of course, the eyes. I personally hope your eyes retain the mesmerizing blue that they have, because I feel like they’re much more enchanting than my own. They do match quite often, but every so often the light hits yours just right, and it’s pretty spectacular.

Did I mention this cold we both have? It’s pretty gnarly, which is why I think I just wrote a whole paragraph about the color of your eyes, something that has absolutely nothing to do with you being 20 months old today.

One of my favorite nights this past month was when we went to the art museum together, the three of us. This town we live is kind of an interesting place, in that it’s not a full-on city, but it’s not a backwoods shantytown, so things like going to the art museum or hit or miss — either it’s awesome, or it’s not. This night it was actually quite spectacular. You looked at art, spoke your Jasper-speak, and we pretended that you were scrutinizing each piece and that you had Very Important things to say. For all we know, you really were. Then we all left and walked around downtown, and for once, it felt like a  real downtown. I don’t know how to fully describe to you what I mean, but there were all kinds of people milling around, kids running around playing together without helicopter parents, a drum circle performing, people feeding ducks, cars and buses barreling down the street. We were all so happy, so pleased with the night, and we stayed out way past your usual Must Be Home By This Time time.

You’ve been a real trooper this month, that which contains a holiday that requires a fair bit of shuttling around in the car. You actually skipped naps twice this week, and tonight you fell asleep with your day clothes still on. Between the cold and your teeth that are seemingly constantly in a state of cutting in and causing you agony, we didn’t know what to expect, but you’ve been pretty much as charming as ever.

We both love you, little man. You’re a beautiful soul.

Love,
Mama

Month Nineteen.

Dear Jasper,

Just for posterity’s sake, you should know that it’s 10:30 pm on this, your 19th month birthday, and I’m totally exhausted. In fact, we all are — it’s been a big day.





We began our day in Memphis, a city that you might be quite familiar with by the time you’re reading this, but then again, you might not. I say you might not because you’re doing very well — that is, to say, your Bernard Soulier is staying exactly where it always has, which is basically the best thing we can hope for. What this means for us right NOW is that instead of going every 3 months like we have been, you now only have to visit every 6 months. If you maintain, which hopefully you will, it’ll be once a year. Since we have an affiliate clinic in town, we may also end up just visiting there sometime in the not-too-distant future, which I think will be awesome for us all.

Your St. Jude’s visit went about the same as they all do, though you recovered much more quickly this time around, and even stayed awake after they took your blood & you finished crying, which is a first. You usually fall asleep, or spend the time zoning out watching Sesame Street, but today you played and played in the room while we waited for your doctor, throwing a foam ball around to each of us, driving cars around the bed, and things like that. You actually might have had a good time, minus the whole taking-of-blood thing, which is stellar for you.



I need to take a sec to describe to you the small fiasco that we all went through last night, when we arrived in Memphis around 11:30pm and attempted to check-in at the on-campus hotel they have. Somehow, our reservation was lost or misplaced, and we were re-shuttled to the Marriott hotel that was nearby. I’m only mentioning this because seriously? A hotel is a hotel is a hotel, and I’m not easily impressed with any of them, and happily, my sweet man, neither are you. When we three went tripping (literally) into the doors at midnight, you being my perfect ragamuffin-headed toddler in your mismatched Dollar Store & Old Navy hybrid PJs, waving hello at all the fancy business men who were out in the lobby, drinking and carrying on, I was more than amused. You charmed the pants off just about everyone in the vicinity, even though it was well after your bedtime, and then insisted (sweetly so) on staying awake for another hour, reading books and watching trucks on the highway before finally falling asleep. So, that was our mini-fiasco. I think you liked it.

I know you definitely liked the rest of today, which involved meeting up with our friends Brooke and Sadie at the Memphis Zoo. The last time we saw them face-to-face was in March, and you and Sadielicious have GROWN a million times over since then. You guys were fairly hesitant about one another at first, and both preferred to look at the cats (lions, panthers, tigers, etc.) before looking at each other, but you pretty quickly warmed up to one another, and by the time we left two hours later, you were definitely friends.





In fact, you may have even become more than friends, and you engaged in a little accidental heartbreaking while at the zoo, and I think it was the first time ever, and the fact that it happened at such a young age totally slays me. Sadie, being the incredibly sweet child she is, repeatedly tried to hold your hand at one point while we were approaching the giraffes. You, being the incredibly sweet child you are, weren’t sure what she was doing, and kept giving her high fives before giggling and hiding near me. This carried on for a few minutes, as Sadie was very determined and really, really wanted some hand-holding, until you finally walked away from her, totally oblivious to the sweet intent behind Sadie’s gesture. And you know what happened? She started crying. Like real, honest-to-goodness tears, completely heartbroken over your rebuff.

Luckily, since you guys are both still at such a sweet, innocent age, she quickly worked her way through it, and you ended up exchanging many kisses and hugs the rest of the afternoon. I think I can go ahead and say it — you guys are definitely friends.







After leaving, we began our long, arduous journey home, where we are now. Your dad is working on schoolwork, I’m typing this, and you’re snoozing happily in bed, a bundle of love and warmth. I think I’ll be there soon.

We love you,

Mama.

Month Eighteen.

Dear Jasper,

Eighteen.



Do you realize this is one and a half years? And that we’ve known of your existence for two years now? The day I found out I was pregnant, September 15 2008, was the second best day when it comes to days related to you — the first being the one that happened one and a half years ago.

When I would daydream about what you might be like, what you would be curious about, how you would learn and relate, I never dreamed up the utter bliss that is who you are. I think things like that, people like you, who are so positively good and sweet, so curious and inspiring, are just too good to dream up — you have to be experienced, first hand, for it to really translate.



This doesn’t mean that you don’t have your moments of whatever the opposite of bliss is, because, between you and me — you totally do. I often debate about whether or not I should go into great detail about those moments in your letters, but I ultimately have decided that those times aren’t the ones I’m going to be talking about ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty (fifty! 50! How I hope so.) years from now. I mean, hopefully. I’d like to believe that I’ll be talking about all of the good, blissful ones instead.

So you, my little moon baby. Let’s talk about how you’ve been.

The moon has always been a source of incredible fascination for you. Ever since you first really realized it was up there, you’ve been totally entranced. Your favorite books all include the moon somehow — be in in the background, or as a main character, like in Moongame. Funnily, you don’t really care for Good Night Moon, which is the one everyone keeps telling me you should love. You’re like, eh.

You’ve started this super cute thing where you wave at the moon when you see it, and you tell the moon hi. Sometimes, we tell the moon good night. Sometimes, when the moon is out during the day, we laugh at this, that silly game of the moon’s, and then tell the moon that we’ll see it later. This has turned into greeting the sky, trees, clouds, and anything else that’s up high. That turned into greeting cars, trucks, buses, and motorcycles (they all get a big “hi” and a wave), and now, when we’re riding around on the bike, you wave at people who drive by in their cars. You, my little friend, are quite the waver.



I think my favorite thing that you’ve done this month happened about a week ago. You pulled out the photo album that has all of my weekly maternity photos in it, dragged it over to your dad, and opened it up. He went through each photo, and made sure to point out my stomach in all of them, and told you, over and over again, that you lived in my stomach in each shot. I don’t know what you thought about this, but you would look at the photos, look at my stomach as it grew and grew, and then look at me, like “Whoa.” And now, every so often when I least expect it, you will put both hands on my stomach, and then put your hands to your heart, go “mmm” (which is what you do when we ask if you love someone or something and you want to reply in the affirmative). Do you realize how this melts me? I sincerely hope one day you do.

Speaking of things you love, you are OBSESSED with coffee. This is incredible to me, because it’s not like we give it to you in your cup—I think both your dad and I have given you ONE drop off our fingers a handful of times. The other night you were jumping around like a crazy bean at the sight of the coffee pot, so I dipped my finger in my cup, put a drop on your tongue, and you immediately closed your eyes, grabbed your stomach, and then put your hands on your heart, and did the “mmm” again, all while your eyes were still closed. I mean, seriously.This happened. You, all 18 (then 17!) months of you, you crazy coffee FIEND.





Last night was the first night that someone (your Nana!) besides one of us put you bed. Your dad and I went out of town to go to a concert, and your Nana came over to our house for a sleepover with youuuu. Anyway, you guys had a great night, but you missed us when it was time to go to sleep, and crawled down the hallway, put your hands on the door, and looked at your Nana with a face that said “When will they be back?” The mere idea of this breaks my heart, but the fact that she then told you we would back when you woke up, and that it seemed like you accepted this, stirred powerful emotions that run deep.

By far one of the funniest, and most toddler like things that you’re doing nowadays is that whenever you watch Sesame Street or Lion King, you have to have all three of your favorite stuffed animals with you on the couch — you have a dog, a Big Bird (that was your DAD’s when he was small), and an elephant. When you watch Lion King, you hold the elephant, and when you watch Sesame Street, you hold Big Bird, and it has to be this way. I love it, it entertains me to no end.



You are also way (way, way, way) into cars, trucks, bikes — anything with wheels. You were recently given TONS of Little People trucks, which you absolutely adore, and you have a whole arsenal of various wheeled modes of transportation, but one of your favorites continues to be this janky VW van that I bought at a gas station in the middle of nowhere when I was like..17. The colors are all faded from the years that it sat in the back window of my then-car, but I don’t think that bothers you in the least.



All in all, eighteen months is huge. It feels like it’s even more gigantic than I know. I don’t think we’ll ever stop marveling at each month, year, and so on, and you’ll be turning forty-two one day, and we’ll be like, “Forty-two. Forty-two!” and it will be just as amazing as eighteen months. I love your life. I love watching you live. I love that I get to be so closely involved. I really just love the tremendous amount of time we are lucky to spend together, kickin’ it on the floor, rolling around and giggling, looking at birds and the rain, and in general, just being.

Can I get an amen?



Love, Mama.