LizaWasHere

Dear Josie,

I’m sorry that I’ve missed a few of these monthly letters recently. It isn’t through lack of love, but changed priorities. I still want to write these letters to you and to Noah, but I’m just not always able to make it work.

The last month or two have been big months for you. You got your first haircut, as part of an adventure with Grandma. They trimmed half an inch or so from the back, and tried to get your bangs out of your eyes. You were a good, brave girl with Grandma, not crying at all. (Unlike when we try to brush or comb your hair at our house. Even with the fancy detangler Grandma bought you.)

Santa made you very happy this year. He must have noticed that you love those rubbery balls with the hairy texture, because he brought you a toy caterpillar that looks like 5 neon-colored balls like that, glued together, with feet and antennae. You call it Patterkiller and it is your favorite toy ever. You have already broken it apart, twice.

Your language took a leap forward recently. Although you still sometimes hunt for words, or ask for things that I cannot understand, you speak more fluidly than ever before. Your overall comfort and confidence with language is beautiful to watch. (Although in that toddler-grammar-development way, you have become attached to the possessive “s” ending and frequently declare something is “mines!” That particular error seems to drive This Mommy batty.)

You love to sing. Happy Birthday is a particular favorite: Last night during your bath, you sang Happy Birthday to Mace Windu. You also like to sing the ABCs, Baa Baa Black Sheep, We Wish You a Merry Christmas, and a few lines of anything that Noah or This Mommy are singing.

Recently, you’ve been coming with me to “Big Church” instead of going to church childcare. I think that the singing is your favorite part: You look through the pew hymnal, and when there has been long stretch of talking, you offer me a hymnal (or the pew bible) and ask, “Sing a song?” Yesterday, you may have found a new favorite part, however. They did a passed Communion in which tiny glasses of unfermented wine (ie grape juice) were distributed to all baptized people. You loved those tiny glasses!

I know you’ve been paying attention. You ask a lot of questions about Baby Jesus. Well, maybe not a lot of questions. More like “Where baby Jesus?” over and over.

One day last week, we were all in the car when you spotted someone’s outdoor Christmas creche, and yelled, “Mommy! There Baby Jesus!”

I agreed that you’d seen Baby Jesus, and added, “Christmas is Baby Jesus’ birthday.”

The car was silent for maybe 10 seconds, and then you yelled in exactly the same tone, “Mommy! There McDonalds!”

Much like your big brother, you love to do art work. You enjoy drawing with markers, especially, making circles, faint lines, or confidently coloring anything in a coloring book. You are surprisingly good at coloring generally within the image, at least at the beginning of doing “coloring work.”

You’ve also recently begun taking on new roles. You want to help everyone get their coats and boots when it is time to go somewhere. Saturday, you  insisted on putting my boots on my feet, instructing me exactly the way that I instruct you. Yesterday you announced that you would be making me lunch. Only you asked me to pick you up so you could reach things for me to eat in the refrigerator. Fortunately, you were amenable to our “doing it together.”

Your love for “Movie Stars” continues, although recently it has been augmented by an absolutely charming TV show about a dinosaur obsessed little boy and his younger brother. This winter break, you and Noah have watched all of the 6 episodes of Dino Dan that we have on DVR, almost every day. (Dear Nick Jr, please stop re-running the same 6 episodes. Your website claims there are 25. Why would you do re-runs during winter break season? Do you hate parents?) We all love the amazing graphics on this show, and your Mommies love how scientifically Dan approaches his love for dinosaurs.

You are becoming independent, in fits and starts. I never know whether or not you will wake up wanting to be carried downstairs, or to walk by yourself. Same with getting into or out of the car. You still prefer to be with me or This Mommy most of the time, but if you want to play in the basement, you and Noah are both willing to tolerate being there with the other one and no Mommy, at least for awhile.

Overall, Josie, you are growing into a sweet, helpful, affectionate, funny, beautiful, intelligent, and charming little girl. You are my favorite little girl in the whole wide world. I love you.

love,

That Mommy

Dear Josie,

Yesterday, you turned 23 months old.

You are rapidly leaving babyhood and entering toddlerhood, although the transition isn’t complete yet.

You are ferociously independent, wanting to put on your own diapers, wash your own hands, carry your own cup/plate/lunch bag/toys/book. Your routines must be followed to the last mote of dust. You want to do absolutely everything you see your brother doing, especially if the thing is naughty or loud or involves an injury.

Except when you want to “me-me up!” (Your request to be picked up and carried.) Or when you want us to carry something for you. (“You do it!”)

At school, our drop-off routine goes like this. And by “like this,” I mean EXACTLY like this:

I carry you up the stairs to the main door to the toddler class area. Then I put you down on the landing and open the door. You walk through, holding your lunch bag. You walk to the classroom door while I sign you in for the day.

You enter the classroom and I say, “Josie, let’s put your lunch away.” Then I open the refrigerator door. If your teacher or one of your classmates opens the door, you have a total fit, start to cry, and sob, “Mommy do it! Mommy do it!” When the door has been opened to your satisfaction, you stand in front of the shelves and put your lunch near one of the bottom 2 shelves. I lean in and help make space so that you can push your lunch in the rest of the way. Then we step away and you close the refrigerator.

Next, you take a step or two towards the fun area of your classroom, where the books and dollhouse are. I say, “Josie, can I have my hug and my kiss and my push?” You turn around and grin at me, then we have a hug (which I narrate), each of us gives the other a kiss on the cheek (also narrated), and I stand up. “Now can you push me out the door, Josie?” You give me a gentle push in the direction of the door and hurry off towards the books.

When other parents are dropping children off at the same time, you get very upset. For the last 2 weeks, Olivia has taken part in the routine by announcing, as we put your lunch away, that she saw us at swimming lessons, and asking whose swimming class you are in. (Yes, every day for the last 2 weeks.)

Your hair is becoming so beautiful — I think you may have Nellie Oleson curls. Your teeth are finally growing in so that you look capable of chewing. Your canine teeth still haven’t erupted, but I think you have all the rest that might be expected. You are tall and solid, with many 2T dresses fitting you more like shirts.

And you are charmingly articulate, announcing things like, “Mommy, I spilled something!” or “I don’t like that!” When I respond, “Did you spill your milk, Josie?” you say very seriously, “Yes, Mommy.” You accurately understand most of the world around you, although you do have a few adorable malapropisms, like asking for mayonnaise when you want a bandaid, and misidentifying large trucks as choo-choo trains.

Your obsession with the Star Wars universe continues unabated. In particular, you love the movie, “The Empire Strikes Back.” You and Noah both break out in Darth Vader’s theme or the main movie music almost every day, and your habit of spotting Luke Skywalker around town has not let up.

You also love to read, draw, sing, and count. I’m not sure you understand counting, and for some reason, you always skip the number 3, but you frequently burst out, “one, two, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!” You particularly enjoy having your toes counted. Besides toes, I think belly buttons are your favorite body part. You like to tickle your own and others, show yours off, and request to see other people’s belly buttons.

Our move has been hard on you. Last night, you asked to go back to “Mommy’s house,” and you don’t have much love for our new bedtime routine — the one that no longer gives you an hour of mommy time after Noah goes to bed. Now, the two of you share a room and a bedtime routine.

I love you, beautiful girl. And I look forward to your birthday next month.

Dear Josie,

On Saturday, you were 20 months old.

Over the last month, you’ve become even more articulate, and also a dedicated reader. You ask for books even in your sleep, and sometimes you even quote from your current favorite while sleeping. If there is something cuter than you announcing, “No more monkeys!” in your sleep, I don’t know what it is. Your favorite book is “5 Little Monkeys,” but you’ll read anything. Tonight at dinner, you enthusiastically “read” the two segments of text on my t-shirt. (It really reads, “Real women don’t drink light beer,” and “New Glarus Brewing Co. Your versions included more “no!”s.

You are still a beautiful princess whoops-a-daisy, and we still love you.

love,

That Mommy

You’ve adopted a very sweet, if somewhat passive-aggressive, way of making requests. Daily you announce things like, “I like milk!” “I like sandwich!” or “I like bo-bots!” (Robots — the stacking robot block toys are still a big hit, but you get very angry when I hook them together at funny angles. You want them stacked up in a column or lined up in a row.)

The last 2 weeks, you’ve taken your adjustment to your new school to a new level. The honeymoon and novelty are over, you feel comfortable and safe, so now you can let me know that you would rather hang out with me. By yelling and crying when I leave.

You have also become very interested in other people’s behavior and emotions. When Noah cries, you tell us he’s sad. When he gets in trouble for not listening or following directions, you tell us he’s naughty. People on TV are often sad, or ok, or naughty.