A Painted House

Archive for August 2012

Dear Edison,

Happy 21 months, baby boy!  I’m so glad you’re still with us.  I mean that literally;  I’m thrilled to pieces that somehow we’ve managed to continue to retain your presence in our home.  Edison, you relentlessly continue your quest to leave home at an early age.  Any open door, unlatched gate, or outdoor play date at the park results in your determinedly trotting your way down the sidewalk away from your mother and toward the big, wide world, without looking back.  Your Dad and I are wondering if it’s time to start taking it a bit personally, your persistence in getting away from us.   I mean, the rest of the world might label us a bit odd and your brother’s ceiling fan obsession certainly sets our family apart from the crowd, but you really should stick around.  We like you.  And we’re fun.  I mean, where else are you going to find a Dad who takes you to Menards just to let you check out all the lights and switches and dials, who lets you methodically steal away his tools while he works out in the garage, and who wrestles with you in the grass in the back yard?  And to put a plug in for myself, let me remind you that I kept you alive WITH MY OWN BODY for the first two years of your existence and now I’m the one who decides when you get to have cheese crackers.

In potentially related news (I just realized this new development may be less a simple expansion of your vocabulary and more a request for independent transportation), you’ve learned to label everything with wheels as a “truck”.  In your understanding there are fire trucks, cement trucks, trash trucks, airplane trucks, racecar trucks, and so forth.  It seems you’re going to be one of those conventional toddlers whose obsessions run along the lines of vehicles.  How droll.  After your brother’s unique and longstanding preoccupation with ceiling fans, we’re completely unprepared for a child with such mainstream tastes.  It would be ever so much more familiar to us if you’d suddenly decide your life revolves around the toaster.

Your truck obsession can hardly be considered out-of-the-blue, as after all, you have a father who is conducting a love affair with drives a truck.  It’s a fairly new acquisition in the Casper family and just like you, he’s giddy at the idea of sitting behind the wheel of his very own truck.  And I have a feeling that for at least the forseeable future, what your Daddy loves, you will also love.  You adore your Dad.  And suddenly in most situations, only Daddy will do.  At bedtime you want Daddy.  When you fall and bonk your head, you want Daddy. Try as I might I can’t seem to make you transfer that I Want Daddy mentality to the removal and replacement of each and every dirty diaper, but I’m not giving up just yet.  After all, sweet pea, if I’m suddenly to be demoted from Supreme Parent of All Boo-Boo Kissing, I’m going to need a kickback or two.

In all honesty, I’d love nothing more than for you to grow up modeling after and adoring your Dad.  He’s a pretty amazing guy in how ardently he loves us, how cheerfully and diligently he works to provide for us and serve the people in his care, and how deeply he desires that you and James grow up to know and love Jesus.  Daddy does his very best to be just like Jesus so that when you choose to follow your Dad, you’re also choosing to follow your Creator.  I can’t think of a better path for you, my Edison.

Love, Mama


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