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Thursday, April 7, 2011


Dear Asa,

Sometimes I wake before you in the morning. I lay there, wiping the sleep and dreams from my eyes, trying to listen for the early waking sounds of you. Minutes pass and I am more awake. I feel the baby start to stretch and kick inside – apparently I’m not the only one ready for you to get up. As I lay there longer and longer I think of you – sweet messy curls and a sleepy grin. Warm skin and the fresh smell of the wind in your hair. Clear gray/blue eyes crystalline and alive with wonder. And then I realize it and it almost makes me laugh out loud. I miss you! You’ve been away from me for the past 8-10 hours, sleeping just in the other room, and I miss you. I can’t wait to hear your little voice calling from the other side of the wall “Mama…..mama….mama!” telling me that you are awake. I can’t wait to feel your toasty little self curl into the bed with me while we cuddle for your morning bottle. I can’t wait to have you here, to start the day and to walk through it with you.

(Telling stories with grandma)

You are very helpful these days, insistent upon lending a hand really. You love to vacuum (and now you’re big enough to hold the upright and even roll it back and forth) and doing the dishes is a big favorite too. You push your stool right up to the sink and declare it time for “dishey”. You must put on your own shoes (which takes considerable effort on both our parts. You have to balance on one leg long enough to slip a foot in and I have to get that shoe open and help you get that foot in without being seen as helping. A challenge, to be sure). You are also very helpful when it comes to my morning cup of coffee. You must be the one to pour the beans from the jar into the grinder and then you alone must push the button to start the grind. You love this part the very best – and who doesn’t? – its so loud and satisfying. You’re even pretty darn good at pouring the ground beans into the cone. So helpful love.

You’ve started to tell jokes – well, sort of. Watching and searching for spiders is one of your favorite pastimes lately. We often talk about their webs, their legs and how they can sometimes be scary. Out of the blue a couple weeks ago you came up to me, big cheek splitting grin on your face. “Mama! Mama!” you said “Spider (sounds like ‘pie-dah’), mouth!” and pointed to your mouth. It took me a second to realize that you had not, in fact, eaten a spider, you were playing a joke on me. And laughing about the brilliance of it all as you were saying it. “Spider, mouth, yuk yuk yuk!!!” and huge bouts of belly laughs to follow. Now the joke has evolved to include other body parts, all equally as funny. “Mama – spider hair!” and “Mama – spider butt!” are two of your best jokes these days.

(Your first concert)

You love your stickers and Match Box cars these days. The bottom three feet of our full length hall way mirror is plastered in stickers of every sort. You like to check them out a few times a day, pointing out your current favorites (the jackhammer and hard hats are so hot right now) and marveling over their continued greatness. The little cars are always underfoot, though you do like them to all be together more often than not. I’ll find little piles of them in the cupboards, under the couch and in the fridge. You’ve started to identify them individually now as well, they are not all simply just cars (or “hars” as it is these days). The sports cars are zoom-zooms, except for the sportiest of all which is, for some reason, the batmobile. There’s also the water truck (“lah-dah truck!”), the jeep ("deep!"), the safari truck (“hafari truck”) and, your favorite, the trash truck.

Thursdays are trash day around here, and there are few things in this world that excite you like that truck. As soon as we hear the tell tale rumbling we run for the bedroom window (it has the prime view). You have to stand on the window sill, which only protrudes from the wall about 3.5 inches, so that you have to be on your tip toes the whole time. Your body is pressed to the glass, uncaring of the cold. You don’t take your eyes off the scene for a second. You are enraptured, completely. You are absolutely silent, taking in as much detail as possible, there’s just no room for words. After its over (about 18 seconds later) the talking begins. We have to tell the story now. “Trash!” you start – which sounds more like “tur-ass”. “That’s right” is the correct response, “the trash truck was just here!” You love the enthusiasm and I can’t help it, you are just buzzing with the energy of it all. “Man!” you shout next. “Yep, there was a man in the truck” I prompt you for the next line “Drive! Seat! Wheel!” Three short bursts, pauses between these key words. “Wow!” I exclaim, “was there a man in the driver’s seat with the steering wheel?!” And you just beam. You love the back and forth, the conversation of it. It’s important to you that I repeat the words you say, like you have to know for sure that I understand what you are talking about, I’m not just faking it (like I have to do sometimes when I’m not at all sure what you’ve just said). It’s a very enthusiastic exchange and we have lots of other topics like this that we tell stories about all the time. There’s the one where Papa John mows the lawn, and the one where the spider comes down from the ceiling onto grandma’s arm. They are such special moments, these conversations, and I try to remember how important they are to you – especially when it’s the 34,876,987th time we’ve told the story that day.

(The audience loved you...and the feeling was mutual)

Your birthday party was an absolute success. A day filled with every bit of weather imaginable - sun, wind, rain, snow, hail - all coming and going in these short and energetic bursts. Just like you. It was warm enough to play outside for awhile where you ran in circles, chased your friends, stomped in the mud and jumped on hay bales. All through these strange and quick flashes of weather. The hail really intrigued you. “Rain?” you asked “Ow, ow!” you mimed as it thunked off your head. Inside the streamers were up and the balloons floated about. There was no shortage of cupcakes, or “ca-cakes!” and when dad come around the corner with the bagpipes blaring for the singing of Happy Birthday, you lit up brighter than those candles. You were happy all day and did a great job of sharing with your friends. Your dad and I beamed the whole way through, shoulders back and chests out as we watched our big two year old son enjoy his day.

(Birthday morning baba bliss - with dada)

When I put you to bed tonight, after a big 2nd birthday, I stayed longer than usual. “Ni-night” you said when you finished your baba. That’s usually my cue to tuck you into your crib with your favorite softy blanket. “Can I hold you?” I asked. You considered a moment, looked up, nodding you head and said “howd you” in affirmation. Warm, happy tears rolled down my cheeks as we sat there together, your tiny, growing body next to mine. I felt so privileged in that moment, so thankful you chose me to be you mom. Two years babe – two whole years of mommying. I am filled with pride, spilling over with love and just so thankful to be on this journey with you.

Thank you baby, with all of my heart.



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