River News: Month Forty-Seven

Dear River,

I think it's nearly a year since I've written an update on you.  In that time your sister has turned from an infant to a toddler, you started your first year of preschool, your cousin Kian arrived, and both he and Finn moved away.  I feel like our home has finally settled after the tsunami of changes your sister brought with her.  And you, my little boy, have made some Hulk-sized changes yourself.

Your introduction to school has been such an enormous source of inspiration and growth for you, and in a short time you have learned to navigate new friendships, new authority figures, physical and intellectual challenges, and your role as both leader and student.  Our greatest hope for you, as we walked out of preschool that first day, was for you to learn how work with kids your age, letting go of the "this is what I want to do!" mentality and into a space of negotiation.  And wow! have our expectations been exceeded.  Those first few weeks were hard for you and you spent a lot of time playing alone or trying to strong-arm others into carrying out your grand visions ("We have to make a sand tunnel this way!  No, the bulldozers dig here!") 



But it only took a few weeks for you to realized that collaborating with the other kids brought about much better results, and some of your strongest friendships formed in the sandbox as you plotted designs together with a new ally.  You quickly learned to trust your teachers - two wonderful women who listen to you and respect your ideas while deftly imparting the knowledge that you are not the only person in the universe.  You are now seen as a strong force in your school and your attention sought out by other classmates.  Of course you have idols, some of the bigger kids more adept physically and further along the road to reading.  I love to see you emulating their nobler habits (and yes, cringe when I see you emulating their annoying ones.)

One of your most memorable moments came a few weeks before Christmas break while your class was gearing up for the harvest festival.  You had been reading a book called Tiger Soup that inspired the class to create its own imaginary concoction.  Your teachers had written down and posted all the fantastic ingredient ideas your classmates came up with and at the bottom of the list I saw with a bit of surprise, "River: cumin."  To be honest I was so proud that you had such a sophisticated palate, that some of my cooking knowledge had rubbed off on you.  That night I asked you to tell your father what you added to the "Tiger Soup."  You replied with glee, "HUMAN!"

Oh.  Well that sounds more like you.



This year you have really learned how to be an excellent big brother, taking great care of Lila's safety and happiness.  You've come to the realization that Lila takes up some of our time as parents, and you are very patient (within reason) of her demands.  Of course you lucked out with an exceptionally undemanding sister, one who basically wanders around looking cute and entertaining herself, so it hasn't been that difficult a task for you.  Her adorableness is a huge source of pride for you and you love to show her off and pronounce her victor in imaginary battles having used only her "Cute Ray." 



Of course, your need for affection has not waned, and the constant bear hugs and physical displays aimed at Lila are met with joy (occasionally) or annoyance (frequently).  You've become accustomed to defending yourself after a squeal from Lila elicits the question, "River, what did you do?!"  I'm working very hard not to jump immediately to blame, but come on, you really are the source of most of her outbursts.   As for your affection for mommy… let just say I am The Woman in your life and you might just shrivel up without snuggles from me.

The great tragedy of this year has been the relocation of your beloved Finn to Las Vegas.  The devastation seemed to hit you in waves and weeks would go by before we would hear the requests to "go visit Finn tomorrow."  Your disappointment that it wasn't possible was heartbreaking and the few times you have seen him since have been occasions for great celebration.



As for your interests, in the past year you have gone from an obsession with garbage trucks to dinosaurs, and you have become quite the little paleontologist.  It is an ongoing joke between you and I to distinguish a Stygimoloch from a Pachycephalosaurus and you rattle out those names with authority and ease.  You know the characteristics of a carnivore vs. a herbivore and are familiar with dozens of dinosaurs and their traits.  Your love of knowledge and ever-searching mind is such a source of pride for your father and I.  We love that you are a learner, and we are so proud of your curiosity.



Of course, as I write this dinosaurs are being edged out by superheroes in your affection, and you are quickly becoming an expert in those as well.  You love the idea of a person with amazing powers, someone strong enough to beat evil and avert death.  I came to comic books late in life and usually my choices were off the mainstream superhero tales.  But I'm loving sharing this new obsession with you, and both your dad and I willingly read you endless comic adventures.



It has opened the door for robust physical play - great scenarios of good vs. evil you enact with anyone willing.  Your dad is your favorite punching bag, and he's often greeted with a tackle and an exclamation, "Let's roughhouse!"  When you aren't throwing yourself around an imaginary battleground you love to build with legos or create elaborate forts.  You have a designer's mind and you are always full of innovation and creation.



There is so much more I could say about how you've changed and grown this year, but I think I'll close with some of my favorite quotes:

During a sleepover, after ushering Finn out of your room with the same flimsy excuse for the third time in a row:  "I don't know why Finn has to go pee so many times."
Your favorite way to say yes for about three months: "Yes-a-tootie rumbo!"
Your warning every time Lila would crawl toward Edgar to tackle him with hugs: "Edgar, run for your life!"
The way you tell me you love me more than anything in the world: "I love you to the bellies of Hogar."



Well, my boy, I love you to the bellies of Hogar and I always will.
xoxo,
Mommy

River News: 3 years

Dear River,

These days whenever someone asks you how old you are, you hold up your fingers and say, "I turned three for my birthday in Las Vegas. It's a LONG way away so you have to take a plane." Your birthday was over two months ago, but the memory of that trip is burned into your brain still. I am both thrilled and terrified that you are at an age where you will start forming permanent memories. Up until now there was a reasonable expectation that most of the stupid mistakes I've made as a parent at least wouldn't scar you for life. No more.


You are so sharp and your ability to remember the minutest detail boggles my mind. That Las Vegas trip, for instance, still inspires you to talk about the hiking you did "in Red Rock with cousin Sydney" or "swimming in the pool at Oma's house." You love to tell about what you know, and you can go on and on about different kinds of dinosaurs ("a T-rex is a meat eater which is a carnivore") and trucks ("I call these twisty things in my trash truck spirals but Dadu calls them augers") and nature ("that plant is a shrub because it's short and fat"). Your vocabulary and comprehension of the mechanics of the world is unbelievable. Thankfully you still have a few adorable mispronunciations to remind me you're just a little kid (cimanon, quiwet time, and pre-tors are my favorite ones).


Physically you are way past toddlerhood - there is nothing uncertain or weak about the way you move your body. You are a skilled climber and love to run, spin and dance. Your little swivel-hip dance moves could give Elvis a run for his money. We spend lots of time working on art projects and your manual dexterity is getting so strong. In art class you've started creating shapes in the paint (mostly monsters) rather than just filling the page with color, and you work so hard at coloring in the lines at home.



Probably your favorite thing to do right now is spend time in the backyard with your dad. You help him with the yard work, have squirt gun or water ballon battles, or just play on your play structure. You love to be dirty and mourn the loss of your grime each night at bath time. If we let you, you'd always be in your pajamas (which is a trait you get pretty equally from your parents) and never cut your hair. You are such a hippy.


As you learn more and more about the world, I can see bits of your innocence ebbing away. You're starting to explore the idea of death in lots of different ways. You are so sad the dinosaurs are extinct and you talk all the time about a dinosaur land where they are still alive and you can visit them. When we play fighting games you make it clear that you're just pretending and you "don't really want to dead mommy."


This grappling with life and death influences your ideas about food too. You are connecting the idea that meat is dead animals and you've played with the idea of being a vegetarian like mommy. I don't push you, but I do want you to be aware of where all your food comes from - to think about it as a choice, not blindly eating whatever is put in front of you.


Still, you are innocent in so many ways. Most of our mornings begin with you crawling into bed with me and snuggling for a few minutes before you're off at breakneck speed for the day. Often, Lila is in bed too, and you attack her with hugs and kisses. I cannot tell you how much I love these quiet moments before the storm; it's my favorite part of the day and I hope you don't grow out of these cuddle sessions too soon.


I don't know if it's just a short period of peace or the nice weather or a real shift, but you have really mellowed in the past few weeks. From the time you were about 2.5 to just recently I felt like we were in a constant state of battle. You have been pushing and testing for so long, I forgot what it was like to just have a nice, playful day with you. But that's how it's been and it's is so unbelievably wonderful to just play with you and not fight all the time.


River, you are an amazing little boy. I can't imagine a more charming, smarter, more engaging kid than you. I know I'm biased, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. I love you so much.

xoxo,
Mommy

River and Lila News: 35 months/12 weeks

Dear River and Lila,

Is it wrong of me to measure the success of my parenting by how much I get out of the house? By how much you sleep? It feels like my absences from you signify balance in my life, faith that you will be happy without me. Or maybe I'm just neglecting the heck out of you. Either way, I do feel happy. I have been getting out, seeing friends, experiencing the world (more or less), and I don't feel one ounce of guilt for it. Perhaps that's the difference between a first and second-time parent; I can leave you without feeling excruciating pain.


This has come in handy of late since you, River, have started giving up your naps. You fall asleep about every other day, and while you may not need the extra sleep, I'm still waking up at least a couple times before morning to feed your sister and I depend on those moments of peace to function. Without a little down time in the afternoon I turn into a grunting, thrashing Frankenstein. So we've worked out a little compromise: you leave me alone for an hour (if you can't sleep, you read or play by yourself) and I try not to be a gigantic beastie in the afternoon. You're nearly three years old, so while it still tugs at me that you might cause yourself harm or tear down the house, that guilt and worry is not great enough to make me skip my nap.


I suppose there's evidence that you could cause some damage while I sleep. Take an incident from a few weeks ago. You were on a real Tic Tac bend (please don't get me started on how you were even exposed to Tic Tacs), and since they were within your reach on the dining table you were popping them like, well, candy. Before your nap, I put them on top of a 7 ft armoire in the dining room so you couldn't reach them. Silly me to let you see where they were. While I was in my bedroom trying to nap, you started a little project to liberate the Tic Tacs. I could hear a thump, then a few seconds later another one, then another. After about three minutes of listening to you work on something in the dining room I walked out to see you stacking your picture books next to the armoire. I'll admit, I should have worked it out a bit quicker (see above re: sleep deprivation) but it took some probing for me to get it out that you were building yourself a stairway to the Tic Tacs. And you know what I did? Rewarded your cleverness and gave you one. Seriously, if you can engineer your way to something you want, I think that deserves some kind of positive reinforcement. (I may regret that when you've built a time machine in the basement.)


Your ingenuity and cleverness shine through more every day. You are becoming an amazing story teller and have really worked on creating fun scenarios for us to act out. Lots of your story-lines are derived from Richard Scarry books (whose work sometimes make me want to gouge my eyes out, but hey, you love him), and you want us to be firemen or bakers or underwater robots (a River original plotline). You pretty much always have a plan for what games we could play, what activities to do. A few years from now you're going to have a little playground entourage of kids who follow you around and do your bidding. All the other kids will probably find you incredibly bossy and annoying. But that's the price of leadership, I suppose.


As for your language, I can't even say it's "developing" anymore. It's pretty well developed. You grasp so much and your father and I have no need to talk down to you or use small words. If you don't understand a word, you ask what it means. Most of the time you can then use it yourself. Aside from your vocabulary, your syntax is so adult. It's clear that you mimic the way dad and I talk and it makes me crack up when you bust out with, "I sure do like these grapes," or, "So how's it going, uncle Kevin?" You still have a few quirks, but they're fading. I'll be so sad when you no longer say "got-for" instead of "forgot" and "rec-T" instead of "T-Rex." Please stay my little boy a little longer, okay?


And Lila. You are amazing. I couldn't imagine an easier, happier baby. River and I drag you around to playdates, museums, yoga and art classes, and you just take it all in stride. You nap, eat, and play on the road and it doesn't - yet - seem to be a problem.

You like to watch what's going on, and increasingly you like to be held in an upright position. Your neck muscles are getting really strong and soon we'll be able to put you in the bumbo chair where you'll be able to sit up on your own and see the whole room. You still love to watch your brother and, other than a strange fascination with licking your face, he treats you like a princess.


You've started grabbing for toys and you love a good crinkle or bell. You can get objects to your mouth - a washcloth, octopus toy, or your fingers - and you suck away happily. You already have a favorite stuffed animal - a little bear blankie that you smile at and hug close. It pretty much kills me with cuteness. Your eye contact is great, and you give me the most amazing smiles when you first wake up. You love it when I get real close and make google eyes at you and talk silly nonsense. But you don't need constant stimulation. You're great about entertaining yourself, and you've given me ample time to sew and work on craft projects.


We've worked out your evening feeding schedule - it involves a bottle, an early bedtime, and me pumping some - and it seems to be making everyone happy right now. You still sleep incredibly well, and if I nurse you just before I go to sleep you'll sometimes stay down until 5am. To friends without parents that doesn't sound so great, but let me tell you, you would win the gold medal for baby sleep.


You guys are rocking my world right now. I love you both so much and I feel so lucky to be your mom.

xoxoxoxo,
Mommy

River and Lila News: 34 months/7 weeks

Dear River and Lila,

I can't believe how lucky I am. All the fears I had about how difficult it would be to have two kids have dissipated. I feel happy. And complete. That's not to say this parenting thing is easy. Lila you are still an infant, and River, you are most definitely a toddler. I juggle a lot and feel pulled in about 50 different directions all day, but I am not frantic. I'm not sad or overwhelmed. I feel like a mom who has her stuff reasonably well together.


Lila, you are a wonder. Where River can be prickly, hard-edged, and so intense, you are soft and yielding and quiet. You are a deep, slow breath. Where River has a ferocious desired to know, to do, to be, you are content to sit back and observe. You take the world in at your own steady pace.


I know we - your mom and dad - can take a small amount of credit for your contentment, but I think we will see in years to come that it is simply your nature to be easy-going, that you have taken on the role of zen master in this house of high-strung neurotics.


In general you are incredibly easy to make happy. If you are fed, dry, and well-rested the world is grand. You will sit contentedly on your playmat or in your bouncy chair watching the action or flirting with your brother. You have smiles for River like no other and you watch him as he moves around the room.


In the first few weeks of your life, the most difficult part of my day was the evening when you would be desperate to nurse for hours and hours. But even that wasn't so hard - I'd sit reading a book, watching TV, or just staring into your beautiful face while you comforted yourself. Slowly you eased off the boob and now you sleep a bit between nursing sessions in the evening and don't exhibit that frantic need anymore.


You still sleep A LOT. You take a long morning nap, play a little at lunch, and nap again all afternoon. I forgot how much infants sleep - I mean aren't you missing out on valuable crying time? Your dad and I have talked about how maybe you aren't as alert and engaged in the world as your brother was, and maybe you don't have the strength he did at your age, but you have the best thing we could have asked for: YOU SLEEP. You sleep for a 4 or 6 hour chunk before your first nighttime feeding, then you go right back down. I don't have to fight you, I don't have to think of 50 ways to calm you. You nurse, get comfy in your swaddle, get a pacifier and the noise machine, and you are out. It is the best present any parent could get.


You are a voracious eater and have gained nearly three pounds and 2 inches since you were born. Like your brother, you have a massive capacity for spit up, and I can count on you drenching me at least once every other day. You have gorgeous red hair and beautiful blue eyes, and you're building pudge like a walrus. I love that you're spending more time alert these days - the eye contact you make, the smiles you give me melt my heart. You're starting to coo just a little bit and I think soon you'll recognize that you have hands. You are everything I could ask for in a little girl. Just perfect.


As for you, River, you are an amazing big brother. You are so gentle with Lila, so patient when we need to give her attention, and so proud to show her off to your friends. I was afraid you would be too rough with her or resent all the time she gets with mom and dad, but you have been such an absolute champ.


I try not to make comparisons between you and your sister, but it's impossible not to - you are simply such different creatures. When we named you, your dad and I imagined a peaceful brook, a winding stream where one might go to philosophize or toss stones. You, River, are not a quiet creek. You are raging rapids, tumultuous white waters broken by cracked and spiky boulders. You are fun and spontaneous, smart and inventive, but you are not easy to navigate. Your toddler days are like the waterfall at the end of that wild river, and your dad and I are paddling as hard as we can to keep from being pulled down into the deep.


Let me give you a picture from a typical day: one afternoon you woke from your nap in a particularly nasty mood. You called out for me, but when I came you didn't want me there. You called out for daddy with the same results. You wanted nap to be done, but you didn't know what you wanted in its place. You wanted to play but you didn't want out of your crib. You turned down everything we offered, and when we gave you some more time to wake up and sort yourself out, you were upset we weren't sticking around. This went on for about 20 minutes. At one point I offered to lift you out of your crib again, and you said, "No I don't want to!" Very calmly and gently I replied, "Don't worry, honey, we're not going to make you do anything you don't want to." To which you responded, "NO! You can't say that!"

That's you in a nutshell, little man.


It's hard being two going on three. You're like a teenager: thinking you know everything there is to know and having to put up with parents who are so dumb and so cruel. I know these day won't last, but they're tough on all of us. You're a fighter, River, and one day those traits that make you so hard to live with as a toddler will make you such an amazing man. You will stand up for yourself and your beliefs. You will be creative and confident. You will have a determination I can only imagine. I am so proud of you, and while raising you isn't an easy task, it is an infinitely rewarding one.


I love you both, my little dears. You are each in your own way just what I always wanted.

Mommy

River News: Month Twenty-Four

Dear River,

I've known for a while that this would be your last River News, and I think that's why I've put off writing it for so long. You really are becoming a big boy now and though you still learn something new everyday, the milestones you reach are definitely fewer and further between. It doesn't make sense to collect funny anecdotes about you in my head for a month and not just write them down immediately. Twenty-four months - TWO YEARS! - also just feels like a nice round number to wrap this up. So though I plan to meticulously chronicle your ever-changing self (at least until you're teenager and tell me to knock it off), I won't be doing it in a monthly newsletter.


I want to start with some of my favorite moments from these past two months, mostly revolving around bedtime. We have had a pretty solid bedtime routine since you were six months old (bath, stories, songs), but you always like to add a new twist to the evening. Mostly these additions last a week or two (like hiding under the sheets or reading stories in your crib), sometimes they turn into permanent fixtures (ONLY daddy can dry you off after bath and bear HAS to sit with you through stories and songs). Lately you've been testing out some words to add to the bedtime routine. One night you asked daddy for "extra kisses" before we walked out of your room. The other night you MELTED MY HEART when you said for the first time, unprompted, "Wuv you." Mostly, though, the phrase that has stuck is, "Goo night, mommy. Goo night, daddy."

I love hearing you say these things because it shows how secure you are with bedtime, how all of our work to build a consistent routine these past two years has paid off. But mostly I just love hearing your sweet voice say happy things before you drift off to sleep.


As you get older, you become more aware of some of the dangers around you. You're careful in parking lots, saying, "Watch out. Cars," you don't attempt to go down the stairs on your own, and you know that ovens are hot. While it certainly makes life easier that you're not constantly attempting to do yourself physical harm, I'm a little sad to see some of your innocence go. Some of these dangers are trickling into your dreams and imaginary life as a way for you to process it all. The biggest way it's manifested lately is in monsters. You've had a growing fascination with them for the past two months, largely in a friendly, happy capacity. You crave monster books (they all turn out to be big, silly, and not that scary) and you created a couple monster imaginary friends you could carry around with you.


But after a couple weeks of seeing only happy monsters, you started to discover some scary monsters. You play games where monsters are coming up the stairs, hiding under the bed, or waiting for us behind a door. I know it's a healthy way for you to express your fears, and instead of telling you they're not real, I try to give you the means to get rid of them (mommy escorts the unwanted monsters out of the house or you tell them to leave). You have such a huge imagination which delights me to no end. I don't want to quell that, but I don't want you to powerless against your fears either.


March is a big month for birthdays (uncle Nelse, daddy, Finn, mommy, and you all celebrate March birthdays). So you got lots of practice with the birthday song and candles before it was your turn. We went to Las Vegas for a long weekend and had a great party with Nanu, Dadu, Oma, Opa, Nelse, and Sydney. You were showered with presents and knew just what to do when presented with a flaming bunny cake (blow out the candles and make everyone sing again, of course).


Back at home we had a huge party with all of your friends, and your auntie Melissa came to help mommy celebrate her 30th birthday. Your party was held a day early to coincide with the normal playgroup day, so on your actual birthday, mommy took you for a long train ride. We got on the subway in Central Square and just rode and rode. We switched cars, rode an above-ground line, and spent some time in the Boston Commons playground. We had a fantastic time and you were just thrilled with everything you saw.


Since then we've done a couple more train trips to nowhere and though they haven't inspired quite the same level of glee, I'm pretty sure they're becoming a regular fixture for us. I like just being with you, having no agenda, riding wherever the train takes us, and people watching.


Every weekend for this past month your father and I have been diligently working to finish your play structure. We finished last weekend, and though there's new grass seed in the yard (which means we can't really run around on it for a month) there has been no keeping you from your "orange playground." You love the sandbox, the climbing wall, the fort from which you can spray mommy with water and say "no girls!" You love the steering wheel and telescope, the swings and picnic table. You love the time outdoors with your dad, picking up worms and snails, and soaking in the sun. All of the work to put it up has been more than paid for with your happiness.


Your cousin Finn also loves following you around on your playground and burying himself in sand. You two are having great adventures together these days, and when you're not putting him into a choke hold or attempting to stuff him in the kitchen cabinets you seem to get along great. But if you had asked your uncle and aunt how things were going a month ago, they might have said something else entirely. Finn was still having a hard time standing on his own, so he would often use something - like your arm - to pull himself up. When he did this you complained, pointing at him and saying, "Finn pinch." Of course, that's not how it sounded to the grownups who burst into laughter and kept wondering why you were calling Finn a female dog.


As I write this your dad has taken you out to the playground and I am still in my pajamas recovering from a couple visits to the porcelain bowl last night. I was afraid I had caught this horrible bug going around which would have me wedded to the bed and the bathroom for a week. But I've managed to keep half a glass of water and piece of toast down, so I'm optimistic.

I'm still wary of giving you any illness, so I'm trying to keep my distance. It's incredibly difficult for me, since hugging and kissing you are highlights of my day and make me feel like nothing in this world could go wrong. I know there's a million more things to report, I'm leaving out telling about how intuitive you've become, how your language is growing, your compassion. I could talk about the great friendships you're developing, or some more of the fun places we've been together, but there will be more time for all of that.


As I close this last letter, I want you to know that I love you more than I ever imagined I could love someone, and that love is growing more each day. I am so proud of the little man you are becoming and so happy that I am lucky enough to be a part of your life. You are amazing, my River.

I love you love you love you,
Mommy

River News: Month Twenty-Three

This month, River, I've invited your dad to take over the reigns and write your River news. After a couple years of hearing all of your adventures in my voice, I thought it would be nice to get his perspective for once. When he showed me this letter, we talked about what he had written; specifically, that he happened to leave out all of your stickier moments (like the fact that you haven't eaten more than a grape at one sitting for a couple weeks). He wanted only to reflect on the positive, and I proposed this blog will be much more affective birth control when you're a hormonal teenager if we include the parenting horror stories. Oh well, you certainly get enough of those from me.

I love you and I'll be back next month to recount all of your adventures leading up to your second birthday! xoxo, Mommy


Dear River,

I love you, and I hope this finds you well and happy when you are reading it.






















This month February, 2009, your 23rd month you enjoyed leading (albeit in a somewhat bossy way). You were very clear with what you wanted. Some of my favorite phrases of the month were:
• "Getit" - meaning: "hey you, get me that thing that I'm pointing at right now" uses: cheesecake factory (see photo), in reference to bear (who is still an important member of the family), with any adult and even cousin Finn.
• "River doodit" - meaning: "hey you, hands off! I want to do this by myself" - uses: peeling an orange, brushing teeth, driving the train around the track, climbing into the crib.
• "Bear doodit" - meaning: "Mom/Dad, you hold bear and make him do what I want" - uses: turning off/on lights, turning water off on the tub, brushing teeth, kicking under the tent (see photo).
• "No talk" - meaning: "Hey adults, stop talking to each other and pay attention to me" - uses: at dinner every night, at thursday pizza parties, any time two adults are talking around you.





































With these phrases and others you gave commands to adults, children, cats, and stuffed animals. Not everyone did what you wanted. I tried to teach you some ways to soften your demands and find more effective ways to get what you want, like adding a "please" or trading things with kids who had a toy you wanted. I don't think it took, though. Still I think it is a fun direction you are going in, and I know you will get better at getting what you want.






















This month your great uncle Bruce died suddenly and unexpectedly. The whole family was shocked and saddened. It was tragic to experience the loss of such a wonderful, fun, loving, caring man. The good thing was that we got to see the family in Auburn, Nebraska. You met your cousins Nash, Chloe, and Cody for the first time. You played a lot with them. Nash and Chloe tugged you around and involved you in their games. You also got to see your Nanu/Grandma and Dadu again, which was a lot of fun because you have developed your language and intelligence significantly since Xmas.

















On Valentines day you learned that "X" means kiss and "O" means hug, thanks to great cards from your grands. It was sweet to get many extra hugs and kisses as a result. You also surprised me when you decided one morning that you wanted to wear your train overalls that Oma got you last year. You had been unwilling to wear them, but you saw them in your drawer and you know that they were "chug choo" pants. We couldn't take them off of you and you had to sleep with them on that night. Along with the overalls, you finally decided that hats are ok, because there was a matching train hat. Now we just have to find more hats for you to wear.










































One of your other favorites this month was Monsters. We read every monster book in the house 20 times. We watched Monsters, Inc. 3 or 4 times, pretended to be monsters, played with toy monsters, made monster pancakes, saw monsters at the museum ("moo-zee-mmmmm"), and your mom churned out silly, awesome monsters for HooberBloob. All in all, another great month.






















Thank you, Summer, for inviting me to write this month. River, I love you, and I hope you are having fun.

Love,

Thom