Dear Sylvan,
I love you, Sir, but sometimes (more than once but fewer than a dozen times a day) I wonder if I have anything nice to say to you. Three and a half has hit you and me hard. The thing that keeps me from running away to the North Cascades to spend my days as a backcountry ranger is the shared misery from nearly every other parent I know: “Yes, three and a half – with the tantrums and whining and the crying….It was awful.” Well, that validation and the fact that, even in the face of another dreaded day, you make me laugh at your insights or cry at your tenderness.
Just yesterday, you helped Avi, age 20 months, down the stairs. You walked slightly ahead of him and voiced words of encouragement: “It’s just one more step, Avi.”
You’re almost always up for assisting when your sister’s unhappy, unless you made her unhappy by snatching her toys, you little imp. Most of the time, I enlist your help, but, last week, you just started singing “You are my sunshine” when Elena was crying. Just your presence is usually enough to calm her, but your singing is nearly fail-safe.
Last week, you, Elena, and I went out to Mount Pisgah on Sunday, then again on Monday at your request. Both days were sunny and nearly 70 degrees. I told you we were hunting wildflowers, and you followed that lead, seeking bleeding heart and “tiger daffodils,” then tiger lilies after a slight smile from me – and one of your own in response. We even found some deer and raccoon tracks in the soft earth by the river, a detour you suggested.
You’ve enjoyed costumes in the past, but you’ve really entered that cowboy boot/Captain Underpants phase with vigor. You love your Daddy’s suspenders, which have been passed down to you, and, whenever you can get hold of a dress or skirt that I’ve picked up for Elena that will fit you, on it goes! (I don’t blame you; they’re super-cute.)
Grampa Dick and Gramma Mia came and visited for a week, and, while you probably gave us more tantrums during that week, you really enjoyed their company. You played and went for hot chocolate with them, explained how [trains, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, etc.] works, and generally enjoyed them. You miss them both, and jump at the chance to share a phone conversation with either of them, one that ends abruptly with “Okay, I love you. Bye.” More adults should be so cognizant of their immediate desires.
You still love to assign each of your family members a totem animal. Elena and I were flying starfish for a while last week, and now I’m Tracy Peacock. You’ve been a flying raccoon for quite some time.
I’m working on saying “yes” to you more often. And listening to your latest assignment of animals, explanation of train track design, review of how your version of Jacks works, and so on. It does go on and on, but you are a funny little guy, full of surprises and observations. I love you.
Love,
Mother (it’s replaced Mommy when you’re conscientious enough to be a smarty-pants)
