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 Eighteen

Happy Year and a Half, Mr. Biver Butt!

























I'm finding myself a bit overwhelmed lately, my son. This month we moved into a new home and it is a lovely, large house which we will all be able to grow into. It has taken an unbelievable amount of effort to deal with packing, unpacking, and fixing all of those many new-house bugs (Um, washer and dryer? Still not working). We've also been without a consistent babysitter for about two months, so I've been managing all of this while in the half-sleepy fog of early morning and during your too-brief naps. As of this moment, I have decided to never move again. Hope you like this house, 'cause you'll be here for a long time!



















So I'm sorry this letter is once again late; it brings me back to that old idea that I can live this life or write about it, but--at this rate--probably not both.



















You have had an amazing month. I can't believe how much of a LITTLE BOY you are. You are infinitely fascinated with all things big and motorized. Trains! Trucks! Planes! Knowing how much you enjoyed watching construction vehicles, one particularly busy afternoon, I decided to break the ban on TV and see if you would enjoy watching Bob the Builder. Up until this point your only exposure to children's programming was the Saturday morning cartoons daddy or I would throw on in an attempt to zone out for a few more minutes of those precious weekend mornings (who gets up at 6am on a Saturday?!?!). Even that would get us a couple minutes of respite at most, and I was so proud of my son who had no interest in TV.










































Then came Bob. After two minutes of watching Bob and his crew building you had learned to say "Bob-Bob!" and "House!" You were hooked. I can't tell you how often I have heard you ask for this show in the past month. It's a dangerous temptation, this TV thing; to know I could get ten minutes to check email or make dinner seems an undeniable luxury. We've resisted pretty well. I would like TV time to be a special treat for you, not something routine in your life, and so far that seems to be how it's working.





































Away from that black box of temptation, you have seen so many things this month. One morning, after you had asked to read your train book for the billionth time, your dad and I decided take you to see one up close. Off we went to the T station and got on board for a trip to nowhere, just to fulfill your jones for trains. More times than I can count we have stopped at construction sights, waited while ambulances with sirens blaring passed by, paused by fire stations, and searched out playgrounds where planes and helicopters pass overhead, all so you could see some of your favorite steel behemoths.



















You have words or signs for all of your favorite vehicles and our library of books about of trains, planes, and automobiles has grown exponentially. Perhaps as much as the words "choo choo" and "trash" (garbage truck - one of your favorites), I have heard the word "turtle" an unbelievable amount. You love animals. You love seeing them on the street, visiting them in museums, looking at them in books, and acting like them whenever the mood strikes. Turtles, monkeys, owls, mice, and bears; they all inspire your imagination. As an animal lover myself, I couldn't be more happy.

























I think the biggest challenge this month (aside from figuring out how to get you your next train fix) has been sleep. Your dad and I just realized that it has been almost exactly a year from when we last dealt with incredible, horrible sleep problems with you, and I think maybe, like me, you are highly affected by the change of seasons. Without the evening or morning light to guide you, you wake up not knowing what time it is. Last night was the worst, with a half hour waking at 1am, then you were up for the day at 4am. Let me repeat that: You Were Up For the Day at 4AM. Your dad and I are starting to remember what your infancy was like, and we are not enjoying it one bit. For one thing, you don't have all of that glorious pudge, and for another you seem to be able to cry for a lot longer.

























So I would describe myself this month as exhausted, overworked, and undernourished, and I would describe you as somewhat frustrating, but undeniably amazing.



















I love you,
Mommy

et tu waiter?

River's growing interest in things large and mechanical is fascinating to me. Without any particular encouragement he started pointing to large trucks (buses, semi's, and construction vehicles) a couple months ago. I quickly decided that my vocabulary of "big truck" was way too limited and have now learned all the names from back-hoe to front loader, cement truck to steam roller. With the help of books and scant few sightings he has moved onto an obsession with trains with much vigor. The same time he learned the sign for "train" he picked up a "where did it go?" shoulder shrug, which is as adorable as it is exhausting.

Where did the birdy go? I don't know. Where is the doggie? Over there. Where is mommy? Under the table with her empty vodka bottle because you won't stop asking where things are.

On the night before we finally signed papers for our new house, we went out to dinner to celebrate our impending release from hotel purgatory. We sat in the outdoor patio of a great little Mexican restaurant that happened to be less than a block from the commuter rail tracks. As we were waiting for our meal to arrive, the tale tell ding!dong! of an approaching train sounded, so Thom walked over to the tracks to give River an up-close look of his beloved engines. When they returned River had a look of pure delight and kept signing "train" and pointing to the empty tracks. As we dined, another train came by, so I walked back to the tracks for a second viewing with my overjoyed little boy.

Throughout the meal, River could hardly sit still. His eagerness to see "trains!" kept him from eating and kept us busy explaining that we couldn't make the trains appear just because he wanted one.

Where is the train? It's gone, honey. Maybe another one will come later. Where is the train? Not here yet. Where is the train? We can't just pull it out of our ass, dear; you'll have to wait.

Finally realizing that mommy and daddy couldn't fulfill his request, he turned to a higher power. As the waiter approached to check in on us, River signed "train" frantically to the nice man. As he walked away to get our bill, River's face expressed his unbelievable disappointment that the waiter wouldn't bring out his order.