Category Archives: Monthly letter

Dear Eleanor,

This letter is late. But, you better get used to that. I’m not your mom.

Nor are you, but you try so hard to be. You’ve started packing a lunch, getting your stuff together and then going to the door to say good-bye before heading off to work. I don’t know where you think you’re going, but the balloon is a nice touch.

Late last month, your Uncle Christopher came to visit. He arrived after you fell asleep. The next morning you woke before he did, taking advantage of those good morning hours to get in some serious play before everyone else gets up. And so, when he finally appeared looming in the kitchen for the first time, you were taken aback. At first, you thought it was Dad, but soon the realization hit that a very tall man had entered the house unseen and without warning from Abe. The obvious response was to run, which you did. Straight into the office, throwing yourself on the floor and crying, because, really, where else was there to go after that? We all laughed and only felt a little bad doing so. It wasn’t long though and you were out on a walk with him, holding hands and showing off all of the acorns we have in the neighborhood.

And you do know all of those acorns, since you’ve spent the last month picking them up. You’re no longer content to just ride in the stroller or even just walk to the park. Now we are going everywhere, exploring the world and cleaning it up, one acorn at a time. Your mother and I always hoped you’d make a difference in this world. We never realized it would be so soon.

The one place you are content to ride is on my shoulders. And after we’ve walked half a mile, it’s the only place to be. I imagine it’s fun being so much taller and seeing the world from such a different angle. That different angle is something we both get out of this relationship.

That height also helps when cooking. You’ve ventured beyond mixing a lemon and a lime in a pot with an unopened bottle of spice, and are now helping Mom to bake. And reminding her that baking is best when it gets messy.

But really, the best skill you’ve learned this month is how to ride a big girl swing all by yourself. And that has made time at the park so much better. It did take a while to convince Mom that you could hold on, but now even she will give you a push or two.

This month was also Halloween. You dressed as a giraffe. Scratch that. A very cute giraffe. We sat on the front porch handing out candy together. You were awed by all the other kids coming around, and even inserted yourself into a few group pictures. Given the choice of collecting candy or seeing so many little kids come up, I’m not sure which you would have picked. I like to think it would be sitting on the stoop with me.

Looking back, twenty months with you seems like a crazy long time and not enough.

Love,

Dad

Dear Eleanor,

Today you turned nineteen months old. And this last month has been awesome. You’ve really started to blossom into yourself. You’ve started playing more and demanding attention. You’ve decided it’s not always best to eat what we put in front of you, because maybe there’s some juice or cake if you hold out long enough. You’ve learned about gravity and how you can drop things from the second floor and watch as they crash to the first. You and Winston would have gotten along splendidly about now.

A couple weeks ago, we took another of the secret trips. Breaking tradition, I told you where we were going just to see if you’d repeat it. You did try to tell mom when she asked, but she didn’t understand, “Cocola.”

In Grand Lake, you really discovered what a playground is all about. With other kids rushing around, you found the thrill of the twisty slides and the lure of the draw bridges. It was all we could do to keep you away from there. When at dinner with your grandparents, aunt, and uncle, you ran out of the restaurant and headed down the block for the playground. Surely you thought everyone would follow. How could we not when such fun was right there?

The mornings this month have been just you and I getting up early and sitting on the couch with a glass of milk. After a few sips, we start talking. I have no concept of what we are talking about, but it feels good to hear you putting sounds, if not words, together. Then sometimes you grab your music player and we listen to Let’s Go by Susie Tallman. It’s your favorite song, and your call to arms when all that stands between you and a trip to the park next door is a locked door and a dad in pajamas.

I’ve always enjoyed having you around, but this month in particular has been awesome. When I imagined having kids oh so many years ago, this was what I imagined. You scream with joy when you see mom or I. You grab your over-sized ball, bounce it toward us and then laugh as we roll it back. You’re getting the hang of words now, even stopping us on walks to point out that we have shoes.  You are playing with us!

Though every month has been getting harder and harder, it’s also been getting better and better. When friends ask about having kids, we tend to talk about the late nights, the extra cost of babysitters, the things that make life challenging. I don’t often talk about how it feels to have you stretch out your little hand to grab hold of my pointer finger as we walk back up the driveway early in the morning with you carrying the newspaper and both of us having the biggest smiles on our faces. I should talk about that more, because there is nothing better.

Love,

Dad

Dear Eleanor,

Two days ago, you turned 18 months old. We flew up to Chicago last month to visit your extended family. We were so excited to see you play with your cousins, but our high hopes were dashed because all you wanted was to steal their toys. You’d grab a doll or balloon from someone’s hand and dash away while Dad and I consoled the victim. Eleanor, you’re going to have a hard time making friends unless you give up this life of crime.

We left you one evening with Nana and Papa so that we could go into Chicago for dinner. We knew that you’d throw a fit if you saw us leave, so we tried to be sly about it, giving you a cookie and then racing out the door while you weren’t looking. As if you could be fooled so easily. Nana said you had a good time, but it’s become clear that you no longer trust us. Now when we visit friends, if you see one of us head toward the door, you scream and run at the door full tilt. You will not be left behind. No, no, no!

You’ve become more interested in everything we do. When you see me cooking, you drag a pot out of the cupboard. When I clean, you follow me and pick up what I’ve missed. I’m reminded daily that it’s my actions, not my words, that teach you. I’ve tried to read more in front of you to encourage you, but that has backfired. Now you climb onto the couch, grab my book and run away with it. So I’m reading “A Visitor for Bear” while you hold tight to my book about female oppression in developing countries. Have I mentioned lately how much your name suits you? I worried that Eleanor was too serious for a baby, but you are such an Eleanor.

My favorite memory from this month will be the dancing. You’ve become familiar with songs such as “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” and the “Hokey Pokey” and you’ve even developed signals to get me to sing them for you. You love to turn and turn and turn during the Hokey Pokey until you get dizzy and fall down. No matter how many times you do this, you don’t make the connection between the turning and the falling. I’ve been playing the Rolling Stones, and you stamp your feet and throw your arms into the air. You’re still figuring out the coordination of all your limbs and learning to keep the beat.

I love watching you dance — and do any activity, really — because you don’t have any of the emotional baggage of an adult. You don’t care whether you look cool. You don’t have any notion of how something “should” be done. Everything you do is filled with your joy and innocence. I am the luckiest person in the world to get to see that, and I am sometimes crushed by the knowledge that the world will slowly unravel that innocence. But even when you’ve become a cynical adult, you might someday see a little girl waving her arms in the air and wiggling her hips. You’ll start dancing too. And once again, you won’t care what anybody thinks.

Love,

Mom