I just arrived home from a childbirth class, hoping to wrap up my doula certification before my two-year deadline passes. It wasn't until I was pulling away from class tonight and caught a glimpse of lightening across the sky that I realized that I might have shared with all these anxious women where I was three years ago tonight. Funny, it was the streak across the sky that reminded me of sitting in a bathtub in D.C. watching a storm roll in and out as I waited for you to arrive.
The past year has been miraculous. I'm not sure what I expected from a two-year-old but I know I'm writing this tonight simply amazed by what you've turned into and how you've grown. Since I've done such a poor job at keeping this blog, I'll offer a few general observations about the past year and things I've learned from you.
You love to go. Nearly every morning when you wake up the first question you ask is, "Momma, where are we going today?" Of course, you have your favorite places, the park in particular, but you are happy to hear we're going anywhere. You love the grocery store (Trader Joe's is a true destination) and if we slip into Richard's Variety Store you nearly explode with excitement. I love that so many places can be of interest and that you are able to find the unique in the ordinary.
This past weekend we went on a hike in the Smoky Mountains with our friends Roy, Julie and their twin girls Riley and Frances (8.5 year olds). The hike wasn't terribly strenuous but it was hot and we made a short trip last a long time with continuous side trips off the trail into the mountain stream where moss covered rocks made easy paths from bank to bank. You had the stamina of a mountain goat and you were so eager to get in the water and climb the big rocks. I've mentioned before that you seem to take after your father when it comes to aversions to sticking to well marked paths. This trait does not seem to be fading away the older you get. I did tell Poppa that if you end up free diving or rock climbing without ropes, I will blame him entirely.
You have a way with words. There were times this past year when I couldn’t imagine that the words I heard coming out of your mouth were really yours. Like the time, several months ago when you were outside swinging from the magnolia tree and you looked at me and said, “that’s really unattractive.” It wasn’t really the words that surprised me but it was the pitch perfect delivery. The sponge metaphor is overused but it holds true; you soak in everything and find ways to use your newly minted vocabulary whenever possible.
One of the greatest developments recently is your love for make-believe. You’ve started naming things and using made-up words to describe things when you can’t easily think of the appropriate word. Your favorite names, at the moment, are Poinky, Sota, and Hader (sounds a little like Hater but you assured me the other day that your dog, Hader, was not grouchy). In an interesting twist, you’ve decided that Joseph’s name is Marshall. The genesis of this name is a complete mystery to me but you’ve stuck by it steadfastly. One day when we were playing make-believe and I told you that my name was Poinky and my little boy was named Marshall you dropped your jaw and exclaimed, “I have a brother named Marshall, too!”
You are a good friend. Our first parent-teacher conference was such a joy. I’m afraid that each child is allotted only a handful of perfect parent-teacher conferences and I would hate to have you peak too early. But for a first preschool conference, I couldn’t have asked for more. Your teachers said that you are the kid that most often engages other children in play; that if one of the children is having a tough day and finding it hard to plug in they will often tell him or her to find you and join in your activity. I have watched your friendships develop over the past year and I have been so impressed with your patience, your willingness to share and your compassion. I see other children gravitating to you and I watch the way you welcome them to play with you. Granted, you are a cautious observer yourself initially, but once the ice is broken you are a ton of fun to be around. We have been lucky to find such good friends for you. Then again, maybe you found them yourself.
Each day that I get to spend mothering you is a blessing—the very definition of grace. Sure, we have our moments. It turns out you have a bit of a stubborn streak and are willfully independent (secretly, I treasure these traits as well, even though I can’t afford to encourage them on a daily basis). But the feel of your hand in mine as we cross a street, your arms around my neck for a good night hug or your smile first thing in the morning are gifts beyond measure.
Happy Birthday, Marian. I love you to the moon and the stars (and, as you sometimes offer, “all the way up to the shower curtain”).
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