Three years, four months, and change

Dear K,

You are forty-and-a-half months old. In some ways, you haven't changed at all. You've always been a playful, cuddly little boy who loves music and books and never stops moving.

Ever since we started letting you play Beatles Rock Band, you've been picking up everything you see and pretending it's a guitar. You started a near-riot over the weekend when the badminton racket "guitar" you brought to a party became the coveted toy of the under-6 crowd. Many tears were shed and tantrums thrown over that racket. In the end you all decided to be in a band together, but you got to play the guitar and yell, "One, two, three, four!" to start off the song.

You are obsessed with music almost to the exclusion of everything else lately. Tumbling, art, kicking a ball -- all of these hold your interest for a few minutes, but then you're back to your guitar. Sometimes I think I should get you to broaden your interests, but I'm too lazy and there's only so much time in your life when you get to do whatever you want.

You keep asking me for a banjolele. You don't know this, but I have a secret plan to stock the new house with presents so you'll be excited when we move. One of them will be a ukelele with a little strap, just for you. I can't wait until you see it. (The other items on the list: a kid-sized chair for your room; a riding toy to replace the one that broke at the beginning of the summer; and a shelf full of books you haven't read before.)

You are quite the little negotiator. When you and I want opposite things, you stop arguing and ask, "So how can we compromise?" And you regularly start sentences with "Tell you what..." Up at Grandma and Grandpa's house, you asked if we could feed the ducks. "We can go down to the lake, but I don't see any ducks," I said. "Tell you what," you replied. "We'll get the bread. We'll eat some of the bread. And then if we want to, we can look for ducks." You ended up sitting on the kitchen floor happily gnawing on a huge hunk of bread. That is called interest-based negotiation.

You are not yet potty-trained, sadly. If you're nude from the waist down, you will not only use the potty, but you'll even grab a stool from another room, bring it to the bathroom, put your seat on the toilet, climb up by yourself, and wipe yourself when you're done, all without saying a word to us. But you refuse to wear underpants and when you're wearing a diaper (or Pull-Ups, which are a big marketing scam as far as I'm concerned) you just don't think about it. I'm still hoping that you will start using the potty on your own without too much more parental intervention. To get you this far, we resorted to bribing you: one gummy bear for #1, and two for #2 plus Mr. Potato Head comes off the high shelf to play with you.

You had strep throat recently, the first time that you've been sick in over a year. We didn't realize for a few days -- we knew you had a high fever, but within ten minutes of taking Motrin it would disappear and you'd announce, "I'm not sick anymore!" Luckily Daddy eventually thought to check your throat. You're a pretty good sick kid. When you're actively miserable, you want lots of snuggles. When you're not, you tend to be in good spirits. And having horrible throat pain didn't stop you from singing Beatles songs at the top of your lungs the entire time you were sick.

You always want me to tell you stories lately, especially stories about you bumping your head or falling. And you always want me to make up new ones. Sometimes I ask you to tell me one, but you rarely comply.

Now that you're getting bigger, it's much harder to sum up your habits than it used to be. You're constantly surprising us. Usually in a good way.

Love,
Mommy