a letter to peter

You and Your Pappy

What an amazing boy you are.  Just when I think I couldn't possibly love you more than I already do, a wave of new happy, gushy, perfect love washes over me for you.  I imagine this will only continue.  You're a great kid.  You're happy and funny.  You're kind and caring.  Whenever we are playing with other kids, you are quick to give your toys away or easily move on to something else when the toys you have are taken from you.  You love to play with your train set-- and you are extremely confused and frustrated at the repelling magnets on your trains.  We are working on asking for help, and being calm.  You never miss the sound of an airplane and rush to the window to try and see it.  This happens several times a day with the airport so close.  You're obsessed with water in all forms.  You would take a bath every hour if I let you.  But instead, you find ways to play in water in whatever way you can.  You seem very thrilled that I've let you help me with the dishes, for example.  Which for you is an excuse to play in the sink and spill water on the floor.  You pour out any drinks I give you to splash in.  This is why you aren't left alone with your cups. You love to be outside, especially in the front yard which we don't explore as much as the backyard.  You have a way with animals that I myself have never had.  You've already made great friends with our neighbors puppy Charlie-- and I am sure the dog appreciates all of the things you throw over the fence for him.  You're my snuggly boy.  When you're feeling like a snuggle, you will pull your blanket out of your crib and roll up on the floor with it.  You hold my hand when we read together, watch movies or when we're in the car.  I love it when you hold my hand. Your favorite books are "Brown Bear, Brown Bear," and "Green Eggs and Ham."  I think we've read them over a hundred times.  As much as you chatter, you aren't saying a lot we can understand.  I know you're asking questions, and I know you understand what you're saying.  I'm excited for the day we can talk back and forth.

However, in some ways, I wish I could capture you just as you are now and keep it forever.  You are a boy with an agenda.  You are constantly moving, doing and learning.  I know that your plans will continue to increase in importance as you move onward.  So for now... I bask in the fact that your current goals are: to move the kitchen chair to the counter so you can see what I'm doing.  To switch on mom and dad's lamps on and off again, back and forth.  To rearrange the labels in mommy's garden.  To be in the driver's seat to make "vroom-vroom!" car noises and move the steering wheel.  To dance, "jump" (lift up your legs one at time.  It is so cute), go in circles, and play.

You remind me of whats important and I love you.

Forever and ever,

your mom

it might be time

I've been thinking about revisiting this space more often.

Daffodils from our yard, photo on my iphone

I feel like the age of personal blogs is over.  All that is left now are those who do it professionally, or for posterity purposes.  I know that most of the people that read this blog forget it's even here.  Heck, I forget it's here.

If I began again,  I could use it as practice.  Practice writing for a wider audience.  Practice recording my various thoughts and feelings on a more public forum.  Remove the wonder and worry of being read and simply use it for myself.  An extra outlet.  No fretting as to it's regularity.  Writing only when inspiration strikes so as to not ignore what's important.

Sometimes I toy with the idea of writing something "for real."  The multiple stories in my head.  The lyrics I've written.  Or even a more specific blog that could become professional.  So why not start here and give it a shot?  For writing is almost never a waste.

Besides.

I want to remember right now.  This elated feeling of our first home.  Of my son who becomes more incredible to me all the time.  I'd like to rejoice in the simple aspects of life that make me smile.  Like the Blue Jay's that have made residence in our tree in the back.  Or the flowers I cut from the yard that are making the whole house smell sweet.  Or the huge smile on Peter's face every time I'm finished brushing his teeth and ask him if he wants a turn to try.  

Life can be such a mess of trying and failing.  It isn't always easy to rejoice in the simple when all you can see is the surface you're clinging onto to stay afloat.  But every once in a while, the waters calm and you're allowed to sit and reflect in the light.  I'm enjoying my current view right now, warmed by the light shining down. I have no wish to forget it.  I know all too well the importance of trying and failing in shaping our character and that it will come again.

So for now I will rejoice in the light, and write to remember.