Three Years

I have a three year old.

My dear baby boy.  What all of the moms of older kids say is true - it goes so fast, though they forget to mention how slow some days with them as babies can be.  But now, now that we are out of middle of the night wakings and explosive poops, now the time is flying.  He is literally growing before my eyes.  Each night that I say good night to him, I know that I have said good night to a piece of his baby-ness, for tomorrow he will not ask what "gradually" means when I use it in a sentence.  He will not ask why the moon is not a full circle tonight.  Tomorrow, he will explain to me that the moon is full only once a month and that in the middle of the month, it is a half moon.  He will explain the word "half" using my words - "first you have a whole peanut butter and jelly, and then, when you cut it, you get two halves."

A more developed boy emerges each morning after his slumber.  Stretching, growing, learning - he, as well as me.

My first child forces me to think, to reflect, to feel, to try harder.  I grow each day he does.  I learn each day he learns.  I rejoice in his accomplishments knowing that they are his alone; he is separate from me, though it feels like our hearts beat in unison.

Probably the fifth time "Happy Birthday" was sung; hence, the half eaten cake.

He is funny.  More importantly, he has a sense of humor.  He wants in on the joke and he wants to be the one to make a joke.  When he was 19 months old, we were at Old Navy.  I was looking for some summer tee shirts to bring for him on vacation.  I made my purchase after being checked out by the cashier lady, whose name tag read "Barb", but who also introduced herself after giving me my receipt and showing me how I could go online to say that she did a good job.  As I walked out the door, the alarm started sounding.  Normally, I wouldn't care about the alarm knowing that I had paid, but I knew that if I had one of those plastic things still attached to one of the pieces of clothing, it needed to come off before I left the store.

Barb wasn't looking my way even though I kept sounding the alarm.  I was carrying a 19-month old and I wasn't about to walk all the way back with the bags and a baby in my arms.  So, I did the most mommiest of things: I yelled across the store, "Barb, I'm beeping over here.  Can you help me out?"  The reason moms do mom things is out of convenience and exhaustion.  Like, probably mom jeans started out just cheap and comfy and the only thing a mom could find, so she just started wearing them without realizing that the zipper was so damn long and the style nothing but unflattering (I am not, however, in any way condoning the wearing of mom jeans).

My 19-month old started laughing and saying "Barb, I'm beeping" as clear as any 14-year old would have taunted me.  And, he wasn't laughing with me; he was laughing at me.  Like, I started laughing with him and he kept repeating to himself "Barb, I'm beeping" while laughing and looking away from me; clearly, his first moment of "my mom is such a dork and I cannot believe the things she does."

I laughed in astonishment all the way home.  I knew then that I was in for quite a ride with this kid if I was getting ridiculed at the tender age of 19 months.  Yikes.

But, man, does it make for great companionship.  He gets jokes, nuances and irony.  That is fun with a three year old.

Yesterday, he found a stuffed dog while we were over at family's house.  He walked around with that thing - holding it, loving it - saying, "This is my dog, Toto.  He's a good little guy."  He said "my dog" like he was born and bred in New York, heavy on the vowels.

We somehow ended up outside with him in only Buzz Lightyear undies, a white undershirt, Pirate rain boots and the dog.  He wanted to take the dog for a walk and I couldn't resist.  So what that he was barely dressed.

We just walked to the corner.  I texted Pat his words because they were just so sweet:

"This is my dog [gives the dog kisses].  Oh, he is just so good and he is my friend.  This is a special walk with you mom.  You are a nice mom and this dog is my nice dog.  Well, I got this dog because I'm married.  And I asked god, 'God, could I have a really nice dog?'

"And god put him in my belly and gave him to me.  And I woke up and he was in my bed.  Oh, I love you guys."

His imagination is in full bloom.  When he is happy, there is no drug that could compete.  And when a three year old gets peeved, no disordered person could compare.  The juxtaposition of his temperaments keeps me thinking and growing.  He keeps me on my toes.

For the first time, he stayed up to watch fireworks.  All day we talked about it - would it be too loud, what would they look like, would he be scared.  He has heard their booms, but never seen their lights.  We were up at the lake and on the Fourth, we went over to my cousins' house on the lake where we could see fireworks up and down the beach.

You get moments like this as a parent - moments where you feel like you are doing it right, like you are making a happy human out of the environment you are creating.  He was in his pajamas with just socks on outside on the deck.  He carried Woody with him for the show.  And he watched and clapped when he saw a firework that he particularly liked.  I feel like he will remember that moment too, but likely it will just be for Pat and me to hold onto.

My sister came in to town for the Fourth.  I love the Fourth of July like a lot of people talk about loving Christmas.  For me, the Fourth is summer in all its glory.  Heat, sun, even a moody storm every now and then coupled with family, food, beaches and pools and no hint of guilt for it not being big enough or stress from not having the right gift.  It's just chill.

We went up to the shores of Lake Michigan, where we have gone since I was a little girl.  Since Pat and I have had kids, we have rented our own house so that our kids can sleep and we get a little more privacy.  This year, though, we didn't think we were going to be able to go.  It just wasn't working out and so we kind of just gave up.  But, on July 1st, a house came available for the next day and the following week.  We packed up in a night - with no electricity because of a bad storm, by the way - and left the next day.  Best last minute decision we've made in a long time.

I love being there.  Every one should have a place that is close enough to their home that they can get there in a day and that brings them peace and joy just in being there.  We get that here.

My sister and my mom stayed with us until Meg had to fly back to Los Angeles.  Usually, when she leaves, it's easy.  But this time, we had such a good and relaxing time that I didn't want her to go.  Neither did he.

Getting away, however you can do it, is so essential.  Your family dynamics change.  People change.  I change.  I relax.  I have more fun.  I see everyone in a different light.

We are in the heart of summer.  Every day, there seems to be a list of fun things to do - pick up produce at the farm, swim, cook, garden, beach, the park, ice cream.  This is my heaven.