Happy 19 Month Birthday!
Dear Connor,
Today, you turned 19 months old. This month’s theme, much like last month’s theme, was talking. You can say almost anything, and many of your words can be understood even out of context. We’ve finally gotten a little bit of insight on the random functioning of your brain – and Connor, I think I understand why you don’t sleep more than you do. You’ve got a lot going on. For example, we’ll be sitting at the dinner table, talking about food and all of a sudden, you’ll turn your head around, look at the birdcage and say “bird!”, as if it’s the most logical think to be thinking about. You frequently give a running commentary on your activities, letting us know you’re running “run, Connor”, or walking “walk, walk, walk”, or when you get to the edge of the bleachers, “be careful”. I’m glad our words are starting to sink in. But, my most favorite thing of all is when you say something in complete gibberish, stare at me as if I’m supposed to respond, and when I don’t, you have actually said the gibberish slower AND louder – as if that will help! You will make a perfect Parisian traveler some day when you don’t know French and wonder why everybody pretends to not understand your English when you know they do.
For your first birthday, your dad and I had intended to get you a sand and water table because you seemed to enjoy it so much at your cousin’s house. By the time we made it to the toy store and figured out which one we wanted, they were no longer for sale. So, this past weekend, you finally received your first b-day present. It did not disappoint, though it did nearly make my head pop off. I got a glimpse into my dad of many years ago. You see, when I was a kid, there weren’t fancy “sand and water tables”, complete with shade umbrellas and covers so the kids stay out of the sun and the sand never gets dirty with rain water, bird droppings, or become the home of random critters – like spiders, which I detest. No, Connor, when I was a little girl, your grandpa got a giant tire, threw it out back, and poured sand in it. From the day the tire arrived until the day my dad finally got rid of it, my dad was constantly cautioning us to “keep the sand in the sandbox” - because he claimed it killed the grass. Well, Connor, that keeping the sand in the sandbox is presumably a very important rule, because your grandpa doesn’t have a lot of arbitrary rules – and this was a multi-year crusade on his part, so I felt obligated to pass it along. You, much like me, felt no compulsion to follow that rule. After all, dumping the sand on the deck is so fun! The most aggravating thing is that you clearly understand I am trying to impart an important rule because on your second day with the sand and water table (which, I might as well add, we were not foolish enough to put water in so it could become a mud table), you told me “sand” followed by “no, no, no”. But just when I thought you were going to comply with my request, you filled your little bucket up and dumped the sand on the deck. My friends tell me this goes on for about a year and then the concept sinks in. I have decided to embrace this phase of life and purchase stock in a play sand company.
You also received a bubble mower from your grandma. While we were on vacation, she gave me money to purchase you one so she wouldn't have to mess with shipping. Well, Connor, she gave me too much money - so I purchased the mother of all containers of bubbles to go with the mower. This is very cool. Though almost all of your toys are primary colored, the mower is pink. I suspect the store only had pink ones left, because everyone knows that mowing the lawn is NOT woman's work, so the target audience just wasn't buying the pink mower. I'm all for equality, but I do not mow the lawn. A few years ago, our neighbor's girlfriend mowed his lawn and I immediately told him he should never let her do that again because it was clearly man's work. That, and I didn't want your dad to realize that there is not some genetic reason why I refuse to mow the lawn. You seem to enjoy the pink mower, as I suspect all the other lawn mowing boys in training will when they get their pink mowers.
Your grandma also had the audacity to send you an Easter-themed Arthur book. For the most part, I have steered clear of this new book so it is not yet making me want to beat my forehead on the wall. I suspect by the time I write your 20 month note, there will be a flat spot on my head. But, I will get your grandma back. I will be sure to include it among our books when we travel to see her this summer.
Tantrums, knock on wood, seem to have been a short-lived phenomenon. But, your dad and I consider ourselves warned, and I suppose you’re probably just waiting for something really good to protest. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for as soon as you can read the newspaper.
You used to laugh loudly when your dad would sneeze, so much so that he’ll fake sneeze just for the laugh. So, just for kicks, you learned to do this yourself. You will look at someone and say “Ahtoo”, and you always get the reaction you’re looking for. You’ve also found other ways to please a crowd. Just a couple of nights ago, we were eating dinner at a friend’s house. You insisted that your mushy green beans be placed in the little bowls meant for olive oil for bread – and at some point, you decided doing a header into the bowl and eating much like a dog would make for a great party trick. You were right – though it is always odd to clean green beans off of a forehead, nose, and chin. But hey, I’m just happy at least a portion of the beans went down, and you were pretty happy while I got to enjoy a very nice meal.
You’re becoming both more independent and more assertive. You can now play outside a bit without me right next to you, which allows me to do a little yardwork while you play. I have even dared to run inside to do a quick task like adjust the oven and both times I have done this, I have looked out the window to see you carrying random objects down the deck stairs. So far, your efforts have been successful. When we play together, you are much more likely to dictate what my role should be – “up” (pick me up) “house” (build me a house) “shovel down” (put the shovel down now, and nobody gets hurt). I have a feeling this could get old.
You continue to be such a joyful member of the family, Connor. Both your dad and I are really glad you’re here.
Love,
Mama
Today, you turned 19 months old. This month’s theme, much like last month’s theme, was talking. You can say almost anything, and many of your words can be understood even out of context. We’ve finally gotten a little bit of insight on the random functioning of your brain – and Connor, I think I understand why you don’t sleep more than you do. You’ve got a lot going on. For example, we’ll be sitting at the dinner table, talking about food and all of a sudden, you’ll turn your head around, look at the birdcage and say “bird!”, as if it’s the most logical think to be thinking about. You frequently give a running commentary on your activities, letting us know you’re running “run, Connor”, or walking “walk, walk, walk”, or when you get to the edge of the bleachers, “be careful”. I’m glad our words are starting to sink in. But, my most favorite thing of all is when you say something in complete gibberish, stare at me as if I’m supposed to respond, and when I don’t, you have actually said the gibberish slower AND louder – as if that will help! You will make a perfect Parisian traveler some day when you don’t know French and wonder why everybody pretends to not understand your English when you know they do.
For your first birthday, your dad and I had intended to get you a sand and water table because you seemed to enjoy it so much at your cousin’s house. By the time we made it to the toy store and figured out which one we wanted, they were no longer for sale. So, this past weekend, you finally received your first b-day present. It did not disappoint, though it did nearly make my head pop off. I got a glimpse into my dad of many years ago. You see, when I was a kid, there weren’t fancy “sand and water tables”, complete with shade umbrellas and covers so the kids stay out of the sun and the sand never gets dirty with rain water, bird droppings, or become the home of random critters – like spiders, which I detest. No, Connor, when I was a little girl, your grandpa got a giant tire, threw it out back, and poured sand in it. From the day the tire arrived until the day my dad finally got rid of it, my dad was constantly cautioning us to “keep the sand in the sandbox” - because he claimed it killed the grass. Well, Connor, that keeping the sand in the sandbox is presumably a very important rule, because your grandpa doesn’t have a lot of arbitrary rules – and this was a multi-year crusade on his part, so I felt obligated to pass it along. You, much like me, felt no compulsion to follow that rule. After all, dumping the sand on the deck is so fun! The most aggravating thing is that you clearly understand I am trying to impart an important rule because on your second day with the sand and water table (which, I might as well add, we were not foolish enough to put water in so it could become a mud table), you told me “sand” followed by “no, no, no”. But just when I thought you were going to comply with my request, you filled your little bucket up and dumped the sand on the deck. My friends tell me this goes on for about a year and then the concept sinks in. I have decided to embrace this phase of life and purchase stock in a play sand company.
You also received a bubble mower from your grandma. While we were on vacation, she gave me money to purchase you one so she wouldn't have to mess with shipping. Well, Connor, she gave me too much money - so I purchased the mother of all containers of bubbles to go with the mower. This is very cool. Though almost all of your toys are primary colored, the mower is pink. I suspect the store only had pink ones left, because everyone knows that mowing the lawn is NOT woman's work, so the target audience just wasn't buying the pink mower. I'm all for equality, but I do not mow the lawn. A few years ago, our neighbor's girlfriend mowed his lawn and I immediately told him he should never let her do that again because it was clearly man's work. That, and I didn't want your dad to realize that there is not some genetic reason why I refuse to mow the lawn. You seem to enjoy the pink mower, as I suspect all the other lawn mowing boys in training will when they get their pink mowers.
Your grandma also had the audacity to send you an Easter-themed Arthur book. For the most part, I have steered clear of this new book so it is not yet making me want to beat my forehead on the wall. I suspect by the time I write your 20 month note, there will be a flat spot on my head. But, I will get your grandma back. I will be sure to include it among our books when we travel to see her this summer.
Tantrums, knock on wood, seem to have been a short-lived phenomenon. But, your dad and I consider ourselves warned, and I suppose you’re probably just waiting for something really good to protest. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for as soon as you can read the newspaper.
You used to laugh loudly when your dad would sneeze, so much so that he’ll fake sneeze just for the laugh. So, just for kicks, you learned to do this yourself. You will look at someone and say “Ahtoo”, and you always get the reaction you’re looking for. You’ve also found other ways to please a crowd. Just a couple of nights ago, we were eating dinner at a friend’s house. You insisted that your mushy green beans be placed in the little bowls meant for olive oil for bread – and at some point, you decided doing a header into the bowl and eating much like a dog would make for a great party trick. You were right – though it is always odd to clean green beans off of a forehead, nose, and chin. But hey, I’m just happy at least a portion of the beans went down, and you were pretty happy while I got to enjoy a very nice meal.
You’re becoming both more independent and more assertive. You can now play outside a bit without me right next to you, which allows me to do a little yardwork while you play. I have even dared to run inside to do a quick task like adjust the oven and both times I have done this, I have looked out the window to see you carrying random objects down the deck stairs. So far, your efforts have been successful. When we play together, you are much more likely to dictate what my role should be – “up” (pick me up) “house” (build me a house) “shovel down” (put the shovel down now, and nobody gets hurt). I have a feeling this could get old.
You continue to be such a joyful member of the family, Connor. Both your dad and I are really glad you’re here.
Love,
Mama
posted by Elaine at 8:09 PM
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