Monday, July 29, 2013

a blur.


I need to order new pages for your baby book because there's much to tell you about this stage. You wear your blue Crocs everyday and declare, "Shoes off!" whenever you get home. Sitting in the front entryway, you take them off and stack them next to ours. Once you were heard congratulating yourself for this organization: I so proud of you, Dap-per.

You do this, of course, except when you don't. "Shoes on, shoes on! NO off!" you shout when you're moody or bossy. And then you run around the house and declare you will sleep in them that night. Ugh.

It's hard getting you out the door for school on Mondays and Tuesdays. You'd rather stay and play with trains in the den. You're usually just halfway through your "p-toast stips" (peanut butter toast that's cut into strips) and you fist them in the car the whole way there. "Orange, Mommy! Construction zone!" You notice excavators and bulldozers from blocks away, always alert while we're driving through the city.

Then we get to school and you remind me, "Mommy, no leaving til Dap-per say, 'Bye Bye, Mommy'".  We worked out a deal earlier this summer and it calms your anxiety around transition. We hold hands and run across the street. We walk up the steps together and open the door slowly. And then I do not sneak out or slip away. I sit and rub your back while you take it all in for a moment. You watch your friends moving around the room and Teacher Pam singing songs to some. And then, a switch flips and I hear, "Okay. Bye Bye, Mommy".  Sometimes I get a hug and sometimes you're already running away toward something fun. Your brave curiosity sets my day up for success, too.

There's always a hug when I pick you up. It smells like sunscreen and play dough and sweat and pure joy. And then the rest of the evening is a blur. You run in circuits around the house. We trace hands and make letters with sidewalk chalk. We build tunnels and towers and knock them down. I start to vacuum and then you take the vacuum from me and work over the same 3 square feet until I have to count to ten and turn it off. We tickle and hide and seek and wrestle and kiss...and only fifteen minutes have passed. Only fifteen minutes?!?! You are busy and I do my best to keep up.

As you get older, you look more and more like your dad. You two have inside jokes and silly games and I love the way you pose like him, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye to make sure you look alike. You are blessed by a dad who opens your bedroom door every morning, makes you feel like a million bucks, and serves a mean breakfast while Mom gets ready behind the scenes.

I think you're impatient because you're a toddler, but you're also impatient because you're mine. I watch you struggle with "last time" and "one more" and "just a second". As the wheels turn in your little noggin, I can feel your emotional process in my bones. I'm the same way and that's why I don't center pictures on the wall or make souffl├ęs or go through labor without an epidural. So I am learning patience as you learn patience. We're in this together and I wouldn't want it any other way. Keep up the blur, Jasper, and I'll make sure my shoes are on, ready to run after you.

Love, Mom


Carl Robie said...

The new Prince George should b e so blessed as little Dap-Per. Your writing is a treasure.

Olivia Herrick said...

ugh, crying.

first time today, too!