A week ago, you finished your first year of preschool. You will soon learn that I enter a phase of mourning at the end of each school year. Most parents seem to feel the passage of time at the start of school. I feel it at the end.
You were in the Cubbie Bear Class, which might be the most perfect name ever devised for a group of toddlers. I felt so good leaving you with those affectionate teachers, to the point that I wanted to stay in the class and sit on the rug and soak up all of that warmth and security. I would stand to the side of the window when I came to pick you up, trying to spy, because as soon as you saw me you would come running. When I did get to watch you and your friends, the tears welled. All of you were so earnest as you sang songs, said your names and tried to identify colors. What sort of world would we have if we could hang on to that innocence?
Over the winter, your language skills bloomed. Now you speak in full sentences, and when you aren’t sure of the word for something, you use a word that seems appropriate. You call watermelons “lemons” and corn on the cob “popcorn.” Motorcycles are “cycle motors.”
You are always hungry and push a chair over to the pantry or fridge to reach things when I am not looking. Yesterday, you ate half a box of crackers while I was elsewhere. Today, heaping handfuls of raisins that you nearly choked on when I caught you. When I take away your snack, you squeal in anger like a crazed pig and shout, “But I hungy!” (You cannot say your Rs.)
Your imagination has recently become a big part of your play. Fires everywhere! And you are always ready to put them out. You also spend a lot of time devising stories for your train cars. I spend much of my time putting out the more figurative fires in our house, but when I do find time to play with you, you are a total mama’s boy. The other day, when I started to get up after playing, you grabbed Daddy’s bag of tae kwon do gear and threw it across my lap in an effort to pin me down. Then you slammed the bedroom door and blocked my passage.
You live at full tilt. You are never a little hungry or a little engaged or a little mad. For your mama, who is cautious and nervous, you are a wonder. Keep your boisterous spirit always.