Monkey: Version 1.19.11

Dear Monkey,

Why version 1.19.11? Because you will only be this you once, today only. Yesterday, you were someone else and tomorrow you will be new all over again. Every day is like this. Still you, but still so different. This dramatic daily change is both exhilarating and heartbreaking, since I am deeply in love with the you that is gone, the you that is, and the you that will be.

You keep taking me off guard. I think that I'm snuggling on the couch with my chubby cheeked, bald headed baby. And then suddenly that dimpled baby says, "Mom, you are so exasperating." And that's when I see the little boy who is becoming taller, more lean. The dimples still exist around the cheeks, but are gone from the elbows and knees. The bald little head is now covered in wild, long blonde hair.

Other things you have said:

"You can say that again!"
"Did I just say that out loud?"

And since every thing is used in correct context, it's even funnier.

It's easy for me to be wistful and loving, but there are still the moments.

You still refuse to feed yourself. At age 4 1/2, this is an endless source of frustration. I don't understand what about a fork, a spoon, and a plate is so complicated, especially since you have mastered the skill of Legos, Wii controllers, and deleting features from my cell phone.

You are strong willed. You fix your mind on something and hell will freeze before you change it. I will not wear that shirt. I am only going to wear red socks. I must watch Phineas and Ferb right now. Ignore the fact that Phineas and Ferb isn't on at 6 pm on Tuesday nights. That is no excuse. And it will be something to have a complete melt down in the middle of the kitchen about. And to mention the next day, and the day after that as well.

Out of everyone in our family, you are the morning person. You have come into our bedroom at 4:30 am, asking for breakfast and cartoons. Even if we tell you it's the middle of the night, this will only buy 1, maybe 2 more hours. You are happiest in the morning. You grin, laugh, and cooperate easily. You feed yourself breakfast, amazingly enough. But at 6:30 in the evening, something happens. The happy, bouncy morning Monkey replaced by the grumpy, pouting, stubborn, occasional screaming evening Monkey. I've yet to catch the alien ship that makes this switch. I'm convinced this transformation wouldn't happen if only you would take an afternoon nap, but all hope of a nap was lost months ago.



We have yet to get you into the car without your entourage. Usually this only includes your Dog, bear, raccoon, and dolphin. But lately, you have expanded your traveling group to include three dozen kids meal toys, 10 action heros, and toys for your toys. You stuff everyone into a couple of buckets and insist they come with us - to the store, to the library, to school. It doesn't matter. And without fail, we get everyone, action heros included, into the car, only to have you realize that you've left someone behind. And at that point we are torn between making you leave them behind or listening to you scream about it for however many miles until our destination. Sometimes longer. Let's just say you can be very persuasive.

Every day, you check the mail. Snow, rain, ice, weekends, holidays. It doesn't matter. Most of the time, I don't know you are checking the mail until I hear the door shut. You put on your boots, your coat, and off you trot to the end of the driveway. Life has been a lot less stressful without all those obnoxious bills.


This is you, this brand new you. The you who had to hug me three times before I left for work. The you sitting on the couch with a carton of strawberries at 6 am. The you that stood waving goodbye at the window, wearing your pajamas that are already too small. I waved goodbye, both for the day and to you. For you will be both gone and brand new when I get home.

Love,
Mom