Eugenious

Dear Mr. S,

“Hey, Mom,” you say, tugging on my sleeve, “Wanna see my den?” You pull me over to the cushy red chair, draped with a quilt that is further scaffolded by a broomstick. Underneath, behind the chair, is a dark pocket, big enough for you and your sister, two young wolves, if you fold yourselves in quite carefully and don’t nip each other too much. I remember doing this when I was four. I’d bank up the couch cushions against some wooden chairs and throw a blanket over the whole thing. I still remember the yellow light and muted sounds of the outside world. I’ve even found you and Miss E hiding in the playroom closet, which is especially charming since it’s under the stairs, so the ceiling slopes down. We’ve tidied and cushioned it up to make a comfy cave.

We had a fun and busy visit with Daddy’s parents, Diana and Tom, who spent two weeks with us over Christmas and New Year’s. You strung popcorn (well, perhaps you mostly ate the popcorn); glittered the veins of pressed leaves, which Diana then hung in the front window; and helped Diana decorate a gingerbread train station with dried pineapple, pretzel sticks, and other not-so-naughty treats. You and Grandpa Tom became reading buddies, and I think you surprised him a little with your ability to sound out words. We all had a fantastic couple of days at our friends’ house on the windy, rainy coast. The full moon broke through the clouds, and we had plenty of clear-ish weather to enjoy running on the sand and jumping waves. We even made it to the Aquarium, at your request, and the fish and chips shack, at mine.

Then, in January, my parents came to visit, celebrate a second Christmas, and assist your Daddy while I rehearsed for a Dance Africa show. You spent some quality time with Grampa Dick, having him pay for moss with leaves and twigs, having him follow your leader, and asking politely if he’d read you yet another bedtime story. You helped Gramma Mia pick out some yoga pants at a secondhand store (you liked the Hello Kitty ones; so did she, to my dismay), and you generally whispered in her ear whenever you found the chance. I can only guess that you were saying things like, “Hey, wanna play with my train set?” and, “Please don’t leave.”

You’ve changed in the past month or so, thanks to all the positive attention from your grandparents, I think. You’re more independent and willing to play by yourself, thanks in part, no doubt, to Diana’s suggestion that you take your train set up to your room and shut the door. You’ve spent an hour up there, by yourself, developing stories about the trains and their cargo. Of course, one of the two train tracks you have all set up in your room is a hand-me-down whose trains run on batteries. Let me say, for the record, that I now understand why parents buy things that make noise, move on their own, and, horrors, run on batteries. Of course, I also haven’t lost sight of the fact that these noisy toys drive me nuts, make me want to eat my hair and spit out my teeth. That door is good for more than just keeping out Elena.

A few weeks ago, we were on our way to pick up dinner (which often happens when your Dad’s at a meeting; I can’t bring myself to cook, feed you and Elena [and myself, if I can get a bite in edgewise], bathe you, pajama you, read to you both, and put you to bed. So dinner out it is!), and I mentioned that we could get fish and chips. “Yes!!” you cried. You rarely say anything with such unabated joy. After some super fish and chips and live crab-watching, a splashy bath, and only one story, Elena said she was ready to sleep. Despite my desire to have you stay in your room so Elena wouldn’t be distracted, you came in and sang “Skip to My Lou” and the ABCs until Elena asked for her crib by arching back to reach her mattress. We didn’t hear from her again, probably thanks to your sweet singing.

As bouncy as you are, you will drop almost anything for the chance to snuggle on the couch and read a book. You can read simple words, which you’ll do when you’re feeling confident. You recognize a number of words, words like dog and cat and stop, and you can easily sound out similar words, like frog and bat and top. With moral support, you could read dress, truck, or palimpsest. You don’t really believe that you can read books yet, which I understand. I think there’s a chasm between reading words and stringing them together to read stories; you have to jump the divide and believe that you can read enough of the words to understand the story. You’ve started to offer to tell us stories at bedtime, stories that include non-scary animals in their quest for friendships. I’ve recorded only one with my Christmas present from Daddy, an adorable voice recorder, but I’ll try to record more.

When your friend Amelia gave you a card last May, a card she’d written to you, I was just amazed. You’d never written an S or an A in your life. But she was a couple months away from five at the time. Little did I know that just after you turned four, you’d write your whole name on the chalkboard with no prompting at all. Now you’re making cards for your friends, too. Your valentines were especially cute, since you don’t always heed rules like “Calvin is spelled C-A-L-V-I-N. Maybe it should be written V-N-I-C-A-L.” I mean, Calvin won’t notice; he’s only 3.

You’re giving more hugs and kisses, especially as you see Elena gets lots of positive attention in return for her affection. And you’re becoming more understanding and generous when it comes to other people’s behavior. You give Elena some leeway if she has a toy that you want, understanding that she’s only one. You are more likely now to really consider whether you want the toy before trying to negotiate with her to get it. And, after I expressed my grumpy sleepiness in a rather unsavory manner one Saturday morning, then apologized, you looked at me and asked if I’d like to stroke Pengy, your penguin puppet sidekick.

I shed a few tears at your sweetness, then I pet Pengy.

Bullet points so this blog post goes up before you’re five:

• Gross motor skill-type activities like riding your bike or scooter aren’t really interesting to you right now, as active as you are. You’d much rather jump on your bed, breakdance in the living room, or wind yourself up on the rings at Bounce. Perhaps it’s the difference between moving in a straight line and winding your way in a more interesting pattern through space.
• You still really like to create 3D art. You love modeling Play-dough and clay, you sculpted a fighter plane at school out of a cardboard tube and a kite spindle, then a spaceship out of popcicle sticks and paper.
• You’re excited about toothpaste, floss, and lip stuff. You’re so happy to have your own hygiene products lined up in the bathroom.
• You really like hoods. If you’re wearing a hooded sweatshirt or jacket, you keep the hood on for the whole day. Cozy.
• You’re fearless when it comes to sledding, despite your parents’ bad judgment. Sorry about that four-ton metal obstacle at the bottom of that sledding run. At least you didn’t need stitches.

I love you, little boy.

Love,
Mommy

This entry was posted in the categories Birthday letters, Sylvan by julie on Friday, 12 February 2010, 23:07. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.