Thirty (30!) Months with Alvie Bean

Oh, my dearest darling Bean (“I not a Bean, I a Banana!”),

I tried to give you away on Facebook this month. I didn’t get any takers. There were a couple trade-in offers, but that made me a leetle bit skeptical. You are such a wonderful child, but oh! you can be challenging. There is no end in sight to your barrier testing. You are mercurial. You will kick and hit and then say “sowwy” and offer unprompted kisses.

“You mad mommy? You mad and sad and angwy and fwustwated?”

Yes, Bean. I am all of those things.

Watching you figure out emotions – yours and others – is an interesting if occasionally (often?) frustrating process for me. I’m sure this isn’t the last time I’ll say this, but I have felt more like my bad mom days are outweighing my good mom days lately.

The Crankosaurus Rex does not WANT to go home.

The Crankosaurus Rex does not WANT to go home.

You follow up those challenging moments with such wonderful ones, though. Your sense of wonder is amazing.

BUBBLES!

BUBBLES!

You are delighted with the world around you. And you are so freaking smart. This morning as we were driving to daycare, you asked where my car keys were. When I said they were in the ignition and rattled them for effect, you said, “They make engine go, right? And engine makes car go.”

And then I was shocked. And awed. Which is pretty much how I always feel around you.

Of course you're already reading at a college level. Almost.

Of course you’re already reading at a college level. Almost.

You love words and spelling. You will spell out everything you see. “What’s that word, mommy?” You like to guess. Your bathroom stool is a Cosco brand, and you will spell it out and say, “That spell stool?” Logical guess, Bean, but no.

We were driving the other day, and you saw a billboard. “O-M-S-I. That spell OMSI, Mommy. I go OMSI.”

You have stars on your ceiling and planets dangling. You like to talk to (and about) the planets, and you recognize some of them in other places. When you see pictures of Jupiter or Saturn, you totally know what’s what.

You are, in short, amazing.

Genius.

Genius.

 

Of course, you’re also two. You have…quirks. We cut your hair last weekend. Or at least half of it. Then you declared that it hurt and would have no more of that. So you have half of an almost cute haircut.

Yeah...I don't know either.

Yeah…I don’t know either.

You love to build with your LEGOS

I build fire tower!

I build fire tower!

And play ball

I catch it!

I catch it!

And help around the house

I helping you eat them.

I help you eat them.

You hated me being sick, and would say, repeatedly (oh, so repeatedly), “Mommy, you not sick? You happy now, okay? Okay.” And then try to cheer me up by piling train tracks on me. When I took to my bed with a coughing induced migraine, you came up to check on me.

“Surprise! I came back! You happy now?”

Actually, I'm a little bit scared.

Actually, I’m a little bit scared.

We took you for a train ride on the Mt. Hood Railroad last weekend, and you had the time of your life. Trains! With whistles! And train crossings! And train crossing lights! It was amazing.

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You are a challenge, but so are most things worth doing, right? Who wants to have the easy life, anyway?

You are amazing. The last two and a half years have gone by so quickly and it frightens me a bit to think that in the same amount of time you’ll be five. So I’m not going to think about it too much. I’m going to try really hard to enjoy two and a half as much as possible. (And to try to figure out how to explain how an engine works, since I think I botched that this morning.)

I love you Mr. Bean. You’re my favorite banana.

cheeseball

cheeseball

Love,

Mommy

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