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Wednesday, November 07, 2007

 

For Maggie

Dear Maggie,

There have been so many moments when I have stopped, made a mental note to remember a specific thing you said that was hysterically funny, or something you did that was just so.. well... MAGGIE. Here a few things I want to be sure to remember from age 3 years 2 months.

You live in Minnesota, and have always lived in Minnesota, but instead of using the local dialect and accent (straight out of the movie "Fargo" no matter how many locals insist we don't talk like that. WE DO), your accent more closely resembles a jewish grandmother from Long Island.

You even say "talk" like her. "Toowalk" You wanted to stick your hand in the flour jar ther other day because is was "sowaft".

Where you picked up this affectation is beyond me, but it is highly amusing.

You have an obsession with soap. This is preferable to other possibilities like poop and garbage, so I will count my blessings.

When you visit your grandmothers house or your aunts house, or any new place, I know that if I haven't seen you or heard you in five minutes that you are rooting around the bathtub looking for bars of soap. No matter if it's nothing but a sliver. You sniff them out the way a squirrel finds nuts and lovingly clutch them to your chest like little baby birds.

Yesterday your Grandma gave you 3 small hand soaps and you brought them to bed with you during your nap. I told you not to rub them in your eyes, and no sooner were the words out of my mouth, you raised one to your eye socket and smushed it around in circles to test my hypothesis that it would sting and make you cry. I take no small amount of pride in the way you stubbornly insist on deciding for yourself if someone is full of crap or not. And I was grateful that you kept your eye closed while smooshing the small purple fish-shaped soap around your eyelid, proving my theory wrong.

Boy, you really got me there.

You have taken an interest in playing the piano as well. You stand before the keyboard, raise your hands, pause, and shout "ONE! ONE! ONE TWO THREE!" before you begin pounding away. Because this is what Lindsay Buckingham does in the live version of "Go your own way" that your father tivo'd and watches with you over and over again so that you can dance and sing along.

This is good, because you no longer allow me to play music cd's for you when you play in your room. I am not sure why you decided that you no longer enjoy music. Perhaps it distracts you from other things you like to do in your room, such as pretending you want to play with your animals, shutting the door, undressing, putting on your own pull-up, re-dressing yourself, and crouching in a corner to poop. This is all to avoid defacating in the dreaded toilet. This kind of thing takes a great deal of concentration, and you can't be distracted by the soundtrack of "Diego Live".

I have kept you far from all varieties of princess toys and movies, and so far you are much more intrigued by things that are creepy-crawly. One of your favorite toys is a rubber lizard we got at Target for two dollars and fifty cents last spring. Your dolls sit in the basement gathering dust, but that lizard gets dragged from place to place.

Your favorite thing to say to me is this: "Ma-MEH! CAN I HAVE A SNACKANADRINKANWATCHMONSTERS?" You would watch "Monsters Inc." fourteen times a day if we let you. I must confess that I am tiring of being your snackanadrink fetcher. I may resort to getting you your own minifridge and raisin cupboard to keep in the TV room. I'll have to think about that one.


You spontaneously burst out with "I love you Mah-Ma" about twenty times a day. Often while grabbing my hand. Sometimes you tell me "I love you Da-Deh" just to be funny. You think it's positively HYSTERICAL. I hope you never stop doing that, however I know you probably will. I will miss it terribly.

You also love your baby brother, which truly makes my heart swell with pride and love and wonder. You wake up in the morning and immediately want to touch him. You stick your face right up next to his, and exclaim in this breezy, rushed, high pitched voice: "HiBEN! HiBEN!"

If he cries, you turn on the music on his baby rocker and sing for him. You love your baby brother. And it had nothing to do with your father or me prompting you or pressuring you (not that those kind of tactics work with you anyways). Your love for your baby brother came from your own heart, and that heart of yours is enormously sweet, and whipsmart, and adorably stubborn and independent, and I am so very proud of you.

There's is a lot more where that came from, but that's what I have time to write for now.

I love you hunnybun.

Love, Mommy





5 Comments:

Anonymous midlife mommy said...

I love your poop story, because it reminds me of our experience. My daughter is three years, two months old, and on Monday, she pooped on the potty for the first time at school. There is hope yet.

10:28 AM  
Blogger Catizhere said...

Wow. Maybe it's the name.

My Maggie asked SANTA for soap.

We went to see the big red guy on December 22nd. Guess who made a mad dash to Bath & Bodyworks later that night? Blueberry, strawberry, coconut and banana soap in the stocking. She was thrilled.

11:12 AM  
Blogger Mary Tsao said...

You're back! Congratulations on the new little (not so little) guy. Good work!

9:54 PM  
Anonymous Elizabeth said...

I love your letter. Do you mind if I steal your idea for my blog? I would live to publish a letter for my 3.5 year old who at the moment is living life as a baby snail and always yells, "Mama, never leave a baby snail behind."
Please let me know if I can use this idea...Elizabeth

thislife@urbanmoms.ca

7:56 PM  
Blogger TB said...

This is wonderful and something I also need to take the time to do. There are so many little things that they grow out of so quickly that it pays to commit to memory.

11:03 AM  

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