Dear Jack,

You're 33 months now. I'm later than ever on your letter, but like so many other things these days, I just have to let it go. Last month I was so frustrated on the 10th that I couldn't write anything but some crappy poetry. We were out of town last weekend so the letter had to wait. Here we are, and here are some pictures and words for posterity.

You're a wild child. A smasher, basher, crasher, bonker. You climb to the tippity-top and soar from the highest heights. I try to be cool and free-range, but when you're playing outside while I do dishes or start dinner, I routinely find you balancing precariously on the railing of the deck, or splashing in a mud puddle you've created at the foot of the rain barrel. There's no keeping you clean, or even on the ground for that matter. You're starting to understand some physical limits, but I spend a lot of my energy saying things like, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"

I picked you up from childcare at the Y one day and noticed you had a plastic Triceratops turned over like a gun. In an hour's time, some kid called Drew taught you that anything can be a weapon. It was a sad day! You talked about your "chopgun" for days afterward. Everything you have makes a shooting noise now, "Pew! Pew! Pew!" You even started using it as a verb, "I pewed that ball over the fence!" or "I'm gonna pew you! Pew! Pew! Pew!" Sigh. Some people say this is just being a boy, but you were rough and tumble and all boy before we all started getting pewed.

Here are some of the awesome things you've said recently:

"When you turn five, you can ride a really red racecar. Mine is #24 and it has windows on it!"

After theatrically removing your hat one a walk one day, you sadly looked at me and said, "A rabbit didn't pop out."

Early one morning you shouted in your sleep "Knife and Fork Team!" I'm now planning a children's book.

When we zipped up your pajamas one night, you said, "Without my belly, there's no place for pajamas."

You looked at Pop's legs and asked him "Are they made of wood?"

When you're telling any story in the past tense, it happened "on Tuesday." Tuesday comes before Wednesday, "Third-day" and "Five-day."

Conversations with you are delightful and most of the time they're what keep me sane when you refuse to cooperate. Which you almost always do. You're endlessly curious about EVERYTHING and you've entered the "why" phase. If I ask something like "Why do you think?" you say "Tell me, Mommy!" None of my tricks work very long with you. It's hard. The days are long. So long. I love you so, but you drive me crazy these days.

I'm happy to be your mom and I still feel blessed to be able to spend my days with you.

Love,

Mama

p.s.
I made you a cape, and in doing so, unleashed SuperJack.

32 months

To the two year-old:

I give up.

I give up trying to put your shoes on.
I give up helping you into your carseat.
I give up reason, rationality, and logic.

I give up hope that you'll nap today.
I give up my own agenda.
I give up pride.
I give up protecting myself from vulnerability.
I give up judgment.

I give up certain.
I give up easy.
I give up quiet.
I give up clean.

I give up the old ways.

I give up my hurt.
I give up my heart.

I give up.
I give up.
I give.

Dear Jack,

Today you are 31 months old. I'm 31 years! This is the first and last time our numbers will line up. You spent this last month charming me and terrifying me.

My son, you still don't seem to have a concept of danger. I love that you are adventurous. I want you to stay that way. But I want you to survive. You darted out the back door of a restaurant and bounded up a hill toward a very busy road. I don't know if you would have stopped, and I didn't have to find out. Our friend Rob, thank God, was a few steps closer to you and chased you down. I really am at a loss for the next step. If you did it all the time, I'd just suffer the evil stares and get you a leash. Most of the time, though, we're a team. We have fun. You don't run. I pray that you will learn soon that being aware of your surroundings is necessary.

Now about all the fun we've had. We drove to Florida on Christmas Eve and spent a week in a lovely beach house with most of my family. The picture above shows your reaction to being so close to the water. Ah. See what I mean about danger? You are oblivious. I thought this year you would really "get" Christmas and be so excited about presents. We got you a train set, and you very seriously investigated it for a long time. You didn't understand that you had a couple more gifts to open. That's okay with me.

Your cousins arrived later that day, and that was the best gift for you. It made me so happy to see how excited you are around Andrew and Liam. I like to think that you were saving up lots of love and energy to share with the big boys you only see a few times a year. You were sweet with baby Karis, too. We had so much fun that week. Before Christmas, I had made an advent calendar with little pockets, and each day you got a different sticker to put on a paper tree. You loved your "cal-en-ator" and are still asking where it is.

I haven't measured or weighed you lately, but you seem to be growing more. You'd slowed down a lot over the last six months, but you seem taller, and certainly heavier. I'd guess you're around 35 lbs. Your "winter" hair is darker than your summer blonde, and of course, you're always dirty. I have to admit that I love this about you.

One of your favorite things to say these days is "When I was a..." Like, when we saw a crane, you said, "When I was a crane, I lifted up so high to a giant's head and then I...JUMPED OVER!" You also talk about when you were a baby (and had a dragon in your castle), or when you were "older" (and drove a big car to the big town!). When a friend is leaving, or you're trying to stall on bedtime, you say, "Wait! I have an idea!" I'll say, "What is it?" You'll scramble to think of anything at all, and most of the time you give a list, like "We could...change my diaper. We could...play a game...we could...eat SMARSHSMALLOWS! Does that sound like a good idea?" You're so delightful! Talking to you is so much fun. At breakfast today you were looking at your placemat and said, "I don't like lions. They're yucky! They taste yucky! They taste like lion. They're made of lion." You're a nut.

Thanks for making my days bright, sweet boy. I hope next month I can report that you're sticking by my side a little bit better.

Love,

Mama

Dear Jack,

Today you are 30 months old. Two and a half years! Wow.

You're wonderful in a million ways, but the last month has tried me more than any other. Several times lately you have run away from me, sprinting once into a parking lot and twice across large stores, out of my sight. Each time you did this, I felt desperate. I knew I couldn't get to you immediately, and it terrified me. I know that I have to learn that I can't keep you safe at all times, but you're still too young to understand some of the basic boundaries for survival. Please, please, please, son - stay by my side a little bit longer. You throw tantrums of protest that are new for us. You insist on climbing into your carseat with no help, for instance, or passionately refuse a diaper change. You throw your weight around or kick at me. When I ask you to do something, you most often say "No." So you're two. I get it. But being your mom these days is exhausting.

I can see you learning (and many times, failing) to process your emotions. You speak so well that I think it's not so much that you can't communicate, but that you have difficulty accepting that you are not always the one who decides. Many days, it takes everything I have to parent you peacefully. Even then I falter. You're intense, and trying to match that intensity never works. I have to calm myself down so I can teach you to do the same.

This is how I do it:

When you're shrieking, I think of you singing "How much is that spider in my milkshake? (splash splash)" or my personal favorite, "I'm a GI-ANT in the WO-ORLD! I rescue everybody in the world!"

When you tell me NO, NO, NO, I think of you sitting at the breakfast table and saying, "Mommy, I'm just waiting for my oatmeal to come true." Or when you saw the Christmas tree lit up for the first time and gasped, "Oh Mommy, it's magical! I yuv it!"

When you scowl at me, I think of all the cute things you've said this month, like "That's fantas-kit!" and "I'm so be-cited (excited)," or wishing Gram a "Happy Birthgiving" on turkey day. Or, I ask you to wink. You can wink now! It's really stinkin' cute.

Any time I feel like I can't take it anymore, I think of you hugging me at bedtime, and saying in a sleepy voice, "I'm so good you love me. I mean, I'm so GLAD you love me."

I'm glad you are who you are, and I'm so glad I get help you grow up. It's hard and it takes everything right now.

You're worth it.

Love,
Mama

Dear Jack,

It's my fault that this post is coming two days past your 29 monthiversary. You, your Mom, and Dad have graciously come to visit and help us work on our new house. Spending time with you is a precious gift in the middle of a busy semester. Your laugh is both contagious and heart-lightening. The wonder you bring to the world around you is refreshing; we should all be as curious and full of amazement as you are. While you can be strong-willed at times, you also are good at listening and enjoy being helpful. Your memory amazes me; you recall everything that you did at my house the last time you were here--playing with Uncle Paul's matchbox cars and beating on his drum. Speaking of Uncle Paul, you have asked me a few times this weekend, "Who's your boy?" I am gladdened by your sweet nature with animals; you are eager to give my dog hugs and to pet my cat, even though he would rather have nothing to do with you. You obviously love your Mama and Daddy very much, showering them with spontaneous kisses and hugs. I am privileged enough to receive some of these signs of affection. I hope you know how much I adore you. You have a family that loves and cares for you deeply. I hope you realize that we are always trying to keep you safe and healthy, which means you can't always do what you want. I am grateful for the relationship I have with your parents, partly because I get to be a part of your life!

I love you very much,

Tia Khelen

p.s. here's a picture of the world's cutest tiger:

Dear Jack,

Today you are 28 months old. 2 1/3 years. Daddy's home sick today and you're watching Wall-E with him. Your budding empathy is so sweet. You looked at him this morning for a long time, narrowing your eyes, and choosing carefully the words "Daddy? Are you aw-wight?" You're still a live cannon, typically two in your interactions with other kids, but I can see you beginning to process how your actions affect others. You've started saying "Mommy, I was JUST JOKing!" This morning you said that about running a toy car over your friend Sydney's foot. We'll work on that, my son.

This month you have been using the potty a lot, but still not regularly. I am not stressing about it, though I would very much like to say goodbye to diapers. We may have another year to go, but you're making progress and I'll take it. You are on your third "potty chart."
You like the process so much that sometimes we sit on the potty and read story after story after story. You insist on flushing, but only wash your hands at my insistence. You're happiest, it seems, when you're dirty. Sometimes when we're out and about I glance at your fingernails, caked with black dirt and experience parental shame. Then again, no one looks at your fingernails. They look at your cute face. I still get the glow from being in your entourage. Your blue eyes rarely escape comment. Now that you've started thanking everyone (librarians, bakers, people who hold the door for us), I'm pretty sure you could run for Mayor and make a good showing.

Most mornings, you cry when Daddy leaves for work. As he's getting dressed, you start asking "Daddy? You're going to Mish-a-win today?" When he says yes, you insist that you are going with him. He tells you he wishes you could, but you'll have fun today and he'll see you later. You run to the window and watch him drive away. A few days ago I heard you recanting this daily conversation to yourself while you played with blocks. It's a little heartbreaking, but I'm so happy that you love your dad and look forward to his return. Daddy went to Clemson for a game a couple of weeks ago, and as we laid down to go to sleep, you called out into the darkness "DADDY!!! YOU AT CWIMSON? DA-ADDY!!!!" You two have a special bond. You've been spending a lot of time in the backyard when he gets home, throwing the football or swinging while I make dinner.

All three of us were tossing the football around last week, and you suddenly cheered, "We are the Team-ers! Go Teamers!" You also cheer for the Tigers. After we went to see Rayna's game last weekend, you've added a "Woooo!" to the end of your cheers.

When you see Daddy and I hug each other, you jump up and run over, shouting, "Family Hug!!!" Those hugs heal me, and I'm so glad to share them with my two guys.

You're still singing all kinds of songs. I heard you as you fell asleep singing "Snuggle snuggle snuggle, hug hug hug, squeeze squeeze squeeze," giggling while you sang. These are the moments when I feel like we must be doing something right. When I know you feel loved and cared for, even if I'm not right there with you. You may feel so loved that you feel like you can argue with me. ALL. THE. TIME. When I ask or tell you to do something, you love to say "No kanks." On worse days, you say " No, I will NOT! I will NEVER do ______." The counting is still working for now. You can be so reasonable and so expressive that we can avoid frustration for a long time. But when you're tired, hungry, or both, you lose your cool. Hey, so do I.

Here are a few more cute things you've said this month:

"I can't be-YEEVE it!"
"That's imPOSSible!"
"It's ru-eened!"
"I twashed it!"
"Mommy, you're cute!"

For that last one, you earned one million points in the game MommyLand. Redeemable on days when I feel like I can't be calm anymore. When I'm tired of arguing. When I want to take the easy way out. Parenting you is an intense adventure. I remind myself that when I want to love you the least, I need to love you the most. When you're exasperating, I will draw you closer. We'll work through it together. Then I will drink after you go to sleep. Just kidding. Mommy's a lightweight.


I love you lots.

Mama

p.s. Last week as we laid down for bed, you started singing "Mary, Mary, Mar-y!" I suddenly felt the presence of your great-Grandma so strongly that I even looked over my shoulder. Her name was Mary Katherine, my namesake. I cried then, because she didn't get to meet you, or even your dad. She would be so amazingly proud of you. She would think you (and your cousins) hung the moon. She was so very special to me, and I look forward to telling you about her, and showing you her pictures. Grandma Rhodes was a teeny tiny woman with a heart so big she glowed. She's part of you, and I'm so thankful for that.

Dear Jack,

Tomorrow you will be 27 months old. That's right, I'm a day early. We're leaving for Florida tomorrow and I don't want to miss this month's letter. At 27 months, you're a bolt of lightning! A ray of sunshine! A rumbling storm cloud! A beautiful tempest, my sweet boy. Over the last month you have built an even larger vocabulary and started using those words in most hilarious ways. My favorite lately is the exaggerated "welllllll..." that you use to answer almost any question. "Would you like milk or juice?" "Well...." It's part showmanship, part pensiveness and I just love it.

You sing to yourself (and me) all the time these days. Your songs are hybrids of familiar tunes and your own lyrics, or completely your own creations. Your voice is clear and you can carry a tune. Music is in you. I hope we can continue to develop your love of it so it can become a comfort and a craft for you. We took a three-week music class this month, and you loved it. You danced wildly, drummed with abandon, and learned the class songs quickly. You could get distracted by, say, a broom in the classroom, but when the instruments came out, your focus would narrow. I look forward to enrolling you in a longer course next year.

The imaginative play that emerged over the last few months continues to evolve. You drew lots of straight lines with crayons, starting at the bottom of the page and quickly moving up, saying "I maked an elevator!" I overheard you in your carseat the other day, your hands "fighting" with each other. "I'm gonna get you!" "No, you are NOT!" This evolution has led to a few tall tales, as well. We were playing in the backyard one afternoon, and you shreiked loudly. I asked you what was the matter, and this is what you said: "A bee flew me! And BAM! He bammed me and I fall down and BAM!" I don't know if I can adequately describe the facial expressions and gestures that accompanied this story, but suffice it to say it involved smacking your own face. I would have believed you if I hadn't been watching to see that nothing at all had happened. That same bee has "BAMmed" you a few times since then.

In telling stories of what's happened in your life, you have developed a few new words - yestermorn, yesternight, and yesterweek. For this lover of words and their origins, there is no greater gift than to watch you develop language and do it creatively. My little Shakespeare. Your expressive face makes talking to you a lot of fun. You've started really stopping to think through your sentences. It can take you a while to get out your thought, but it's so often worth the wait. You haven't gotten to the "why" stage, but you do ask "what happened?" all. the. time. Your newest question is "What does it mean?" You often ask "What are you cooking for me, Mommy?" or "What are those birds going to do for me, Mommy?" This from the budding narcissist who pronounced to me in the car one day "Look at the beautiful trees I made!"


This wouldn't be an accurate account of you at 27 months if I did not at least bring up the fact that you have become extremely difficult to comfort at times, and equally bullheaded. You've always been intense. You've never been easy to distract. But this month you've started saying, about a clean diaper, perhaps, "I will NEVER do it. I will NOT do it." You're so TWO. Coupled with your physical strength, it's been challenging to parent you at times. I've started "counting." The old don't-let-me-get-to-three routine. It's not something that I planned to do, but it seems that just the threat of time-out can garner a little cooperation. I want to find a way to help you be motivated by something other than a threat, but for now, it seems like the only thing that works to get you moving. You are sprinting by the count of "two" and you profusely apologize if I have counted even that far. Parenting isn't pretty sometimes.

You seem to experience new emotions (and perhaps a little empathy) when you've accidentally hurt one of us. You apologize and pat our backs. You geniunely, and without prompting, say "I love you." Yesterday, when your dad came home from work, you stopped swinging and sat in his lap to say "I miss you, Daddy." I'm pretty sure I heard his hard heart cracking in there somewhere. One afternoon as I changed your clothes, you pulled all three of us together, and with your nose buried in our knees said "Family hug." This sweet side makes it all so much easier.

You're a cool kid. There's no other way to say it.
My heart grows all the time to contain the love I have for you. Even then it spills over. Being your mom helps me love everyone even more.

Mama

p.s. Recently you had your first stomach virus. This event will forevermore be referred to as Rush Week. It sure felt like hazing and initiation. So, I'm really a mom now, I guess. You are ridiculously sweet when you are sick, I discovered. So clingy and quiet and pitiful. I knew you had turned the corner when you started demanding things again. :) I'm glad you're better.