A Painted House

Dear James: Month Twenty-Three

Posted on: January 6, 2011

Note:  Readers from my former blog will be familiar with the monthly letters I write to my babies for the first two years of their lives.   As each new letter will be posted here I will be moving over all previous letters to my archives for continuity.  Thanks for your patience as I work on all this administrative stuff!

Original post date: March 26, 2010

Dear James,

Last week you turned 23 months old.  This month has brought the outdoors back into our life which is a more welcome addition than a swimming pool filled with nacho cheese.  You had completely forgotten that a whole world of play exists outside of our four little walls and watching you rediscover it with full abandon has been a joy.  The first time the snow melted enough that you could see the edges of your outdoor toys you took off in a dead run across the frozen yard yelling, “Lawnmower!  Laaawnmooower!” with all the elation of a reunited long-lost family member.  And then you mowed nice neat little rows in the snow-dusted driveway, much to the pleasures of your vacuum-lines-in-the-carpet lovin’ Mama.

Last year your Grandpa Pierce made a wagon for you for your birthday.  We’re only two weeks into what is now being called “wagon season” and I’m pretty sure you’re going to owe me for shoulder surgery sometime in your early adulthood.  You’re a wagon addict, James.  The second your feet hit the driveway you begin begging for the wagon and before the garage door is all the way up you scoot under and start pulling on the handle.  If only Grandpa had installed an odometer on that wagon because I have a feeling there’s a record somewhere for most miles covered in a Radio Flyer and we could give it a serious run for its money.

This month we’ve made some serious strides in your eating habits, James.  Last week I watched you shove forkful after forkful of green beans and mashed potatoes into your mouth and then hand it to me and ask for more. And make no mistake, that sentence reflects more celebration than if you’d suddenly started reciting the Periodic Table.  Your Dad and I realized that we’d become guilty of leaving the TV on during each dinner; a technique that once provided a good distraction as you’d mindlessly shove bites into your mouth.  But now it had become a distraction from eating so dinners have become a quiet family time where we talk and concentrate on eating and each other.  And surprisingly, you’ve responded so well to our new routine.  You eat without complaint, you try almost anything on your plate at least once, and you’ve even eaten the occasional vegetable or fruit without throwing it back up.  That’s progress, I tell you.  And each time I see you put that fork in your mouth willingly and without coercion or tears, I thank God that it’s one less time we will have to wage a battle of wills to ensure you get adequate nutrition.

An added reason for restricting what you see on TV is that you’ve become a little parrot.  You can sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Jesus Loves Me, Itsy Bitsy Spider without prompting and spit the entire verbiage of Goodnight Moon back to us verbatim.  You can imitate almost any sound and we have great fun hearing you try and repeat “rhinoceros”, “refrigerator”, “helicopter” and “Worcestershire”.  What we did not expect was how quickly you’d pick up phrases from our TV shows.  A couple of weeks ago your Dad and I were watching a sitcom and one of the characters used God’s name in vain.  And you, playing with your refrigerator magnets in the kitchen, loudly repeated the phrase in perfect diction.  My eyes shot to your Dad’s, he clicked off of the TV, and just like that we were done with grownup TV while you’re around.  It’s our job as your parents to protect you from negative influences, James. Even as we coerce you into repeating, “I have a booger nose” just one more time.

Love, Mama

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