Dear Sylvan,
“Oh, no! I can’t find you! Oh, no! I can’t find you!” I sat up in bed and heard little feet running around downstairs. I called your name before I woke up, before I realized it would definitely wake up your sister, snoozing by my side. That panicky note in your voice broke my heart while my brain remained drowsy. I was, of course, where I always am before 7 a.m. — and often until 8. But Daddy was out running, and that threw you off. He’s usually your early morning buddy.
The reality is that you’re capable of changing out of your pajamas, using the potty, washing your hands, getting yourself some water, and playing all by yourself. Maybe we’ll put some snacks under your bed so that you can take care of everything in the morning and Daddy can sleep in! Oh, you’d be so lonely.
You recently received a new-to-you drum from Gramma Mia — a gift that was supposed to be a birthday gift, but since you were rolling in the presents already, we waited. In truth, the drumSTICKS are a bigger hit, since, boy howdy, do they make LOUD noises. You brought your drum to Dance Africa rehearsal a couple of weeks ago, and we had to ask you to play in the hallway, since you were so LOUD. You’ve got a good sense of rhythm, as your Gramma is very happy to point out, and your ability to play different tempos with each hand is remarkable. I took some African drumming after I had my little brain attack a couple of years ago, since making my right hand rub my tummy while my left pats my head has never come naturally, and the challenge of hand drumming had to be good therapy.
For the past month or so, you’ve really enjoyed your book about Apple Tree Farm. It’s a series of stories about Mrs, Boot, the farmer; her children, Poppy and Sam; and their dog, Rusty. You’ll be reading it soon, I expect, since you’re already reciting it. Mrs. Boot wears dresses with rubber boots, but I still managed to miss the Britishisms in this book. A couple of weeks ago, I pulled out the read-along CD. The reader has a British accent, and the sound effects, especially the chainsaw, are very exciting; you immediately loved it and asked me to shut my mouth and turn the pages (no, you never asked me to shut my mouth, since I’d tickle you breathless if you did). You’ve fallen asleep on many recent nights listening to the Apple Tree Farm stories.
While you express no real interest in drawing (you’ll draw if I prompt you, but you never ask to draw and you don’t want to trace letters or shapes), you’ve been taking out your clay and play dough and creating sculptures. And you still love to cut anything we’ll allow between your scissors (your pinking shears are “alligator scissors,” and your plain green kid scissors are called your “chainsaw”).
I love you,
Mommy
