Dear Little Man,
For 12 days now, you've been a big brother. And I have to say, you took to it better than I ever could have dreamed. But that's kind of our pattern, you and I, isn't it? I worry about something, and you make me look like a freak by blowing my expectations way out of the water. For 12 days now, not a day has gone by where you haven't asked to kiss your little brother, but even more touching, not a day has gone by where you haven't touched his little face and told him you love him. And you've done it completely unprovoked.
Your sweetness is one of the things that I've always loved best about you. But to see you, my first born be so gentle and loving towards others, well, it's all I can do not to dance on rooftops and shout your praises to the world. Which I guess is a little what I do here monthly on this blog, but yet, it feels like it's not enough, because you are truly a gift to this world. When I look at you and your brother, I think to myself that I should have 20 more kids, because when the world seems to be a dark place, full of mean bullies and dumbness, surely I'm doing the world a disfavor by not repopulating it with greatness like you and Tiny Man.
I'm amazed at how much you know. Facts come out of your mouth constantly, like when you told me this morning that there are 365 days in a year. Seriously? Why does a three-year old even know that? Or the fact that you know the name Barack Obama. This morning you were talking about him, and since we're two days away from the election, one that many people consider to be historic because we'll have either a black President or a female Vice-President (which, for the record? Canada had a female Prime Minister almost 20 years ago now, but no need to rub that in anyone's face, we already do enough bragging with our universal healthcare and lack of litter), you and I had a conversation about politics this morning. I showed you pictures of Obama and John McCain, the Republican Presidential candidate, and you asked me what their names were. After I told you who they were, I asked you if you knew who they were. You said "yeah, he has brown boobies, and he has white boobies." Seriously? All political pundits should be three-year olds, because I think the world would step off of its soap box a lot more that way.
You are a 90-year old man trapped in a three-year old's body though. The other day, we were in the car and Eminem's "Lose Yourself" came on the radio. I turned it up and began to sing and bop to the music, until you shouted at me "I don't like that noise." Stifling giggles, I told you this wasn't noise, it was the greatness of Eminem, the only great white rapper who ever lived. You rolled your eyes at me and said "It's just noise, and I don't like it." You also yell at me whenever I decide to turn the radio away from the Oldies station. I think you might be the only three-year old in the country who thinks The Carpenters are the best new band ever and that The Beach Boys will never get old.
Besides getting a baby brother, this month was also marked by Halloween, and this was the first time that you really appreciated the whole concept. This was also the first year that you wouldn't let me pick out your costume for you, and you picked your own in a catalogue. And I must say, it was one of the ugliest costumes in there, but no matter how hard I tried, you were adamant about being a race car driver. I figured that Halloween was still weeks away and that being three years old, you'd change your mind. (See how I just did that again? I expected you to act like any other three-year old. Yeah, I don't learn, and the faster you figure that out, the better for both of us.) Enough to say, you didn't. So you were a race car driver. I have to admit, that as much as I hated the costume, once it was on you, it actually looked cute. I'm now convinced that you're one of those people who can wear anything and make it look good. Tomorrow I'm sending you to school wearing nothing but an unraveled roll of toilet paper to really test my theory. Unless it's raining.
When it was time to put on your costume, you flat out refused. You told me you wanted to go trick or treating in the clothes you were wearing. No amount of pleading, begging or threatening would change your mind. And then suddenly, you did change your mind. And when you went trick or treating with your father, I expected you guys to be back 15 minutes later, but you were gone almost an hour and a half, with your little spider bag filled with candy, and your father carrying a grocery bag more than half full as well. And yesterday, when it got dark, you turned to your dad, a look of excitement in your eyes and said "Daddy! It's getting dark, it's time to go trick or treating!" That's when I had to break the news to you that there are 364 days left before the next Halloween. But if you love Halloween, just wait until you get to celebrate Christmas. Kid, I swear to you, it's going to make your head explode!
I love you, my Little Man,
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Dear Little Man,