Thirty-Five Months

Dear Patrick,

On Sunday you turned thirty-five months old, a milestone that is far overshadowed by the one looming in a month. In fact your upcoming birthday is partly why I'm a bit late posting your letter this month. When it dawned on me how quickly your birthday was approaching, I realized your brother's was a full two weeks sooner. We are not prepared, physically or emotionally, for either. That means we spent some time this weekend looking for birthday presents for you guys. You definitely enjoyed looking, and your obvious interest in certain toys helped us immensely. Now we just need to order them or go buy them at a time when you won't know so that you won't bug us about those awesome toys endlessly for the next month.
Of course, the other big event of this month was your first day of school. Really, it's just Mother's Day Out, not even officially preschool yet, but you don't know that. To you, it's school, where you go to "see teacher." You absolutely love it. In fact, on your first day of school, you just marched on into the classroom without a backwards glance at me. You barely looked up from your Magnadoodle when I gave you a hug and told you good-bye. That classroom looks an awful lot like heaven to you, I'm thinking.

In a way, I was proud to watch you walk so confidently off to your first day of school without the clinging that I've heard can make a first day so difficult. As you are the oldest in your class, it's good to see you acting so maturely. Even if your size or communication skills can't prove you're the oldest, at least you know how to act like it from time to time. But to be honest, I was a little glad today when you stopped me before I left your classroom to tell me you wanted me to hold your hand so you could show me around your classroom. You told me you wanted me to "see teacher" too. You weren't terribly disappointed when I told you that you needed to stay at school without me, but I like knowing that you would rather I stayed with you too.

At the same time that we are transitioning into school mode, you are going through another transition--out of the ECI program and into the school district's special ed program. You had your first initial screening with them yesterday. While you enjoyed some of the games they played with you, that wasn't the case for all of them. You showed your stubborn nature any time you didn't like a game and refused to play. Unfortunately, by not playing along they were unable to prove whether or not you could do certain skills. As a result, we will be going back before long to play more games for what they call a full evaluation. That decides whether you get to go into their program. Since you still need the help, it's a good thing that you qualify for the next step to get into the program, but it was frustrating to watch you refuse to do things that I know you know how to do.

But Patrick, that's you. From the very start you have insisted on doing things your way, even deciding to show up two months before we expected you. You see no reason to do anything that anybody asks you to unless you want to do it. That will be great when you're encountering peer pressure a few years down the line, but your daddy and I and all your future teachers (and probably your current ones) are going to struggle with this aspect of your personality. I'm hoping your impending reasoning skills will make it easier for us to be able to explain why we need you to do things so that this power struggle can stop.

On the other hand, you are still one of the sweetest and most thoughtful kids I know, especially for your age. We had a whole discussion of how thoughtful you are over breakfast this morning, although you called it "awful," not thoughtful. I had stubbed my toe while retrieving a hidden sippy for you and you repeatedly asked about my toe, insisting I get a "boo-boo" for it and asking if I was okay. You showed genuine concern about my foot. I know part of it was the excitement of possibly going to get a Band-aid, but you still worried about me after you understood I didn't need a Band-aid this time. Then a few minutes later you asked me if Nathan could share your banana with you, something that we used to do but haven't done much lately. You've been a little selfish about your banana lately, so offering it to your brother was incredibly sweet of you. It made me so happy to think that you were concerned with Nathan's happiness.

As is the case with most two-almost-three-year-olds, you vary from hour to hour, from minute to minute, between being totally sweet and lovable and whiny and frustrated. The unpredictability can take a lot out of me some days, especially when you're leaning on the whiny side. But then out of nowhere you'll clamber up into my lap and put your arms around me and just rest your head on me for a few seconds. That's when I remember my job as mommy isn't just to tell you no repeatedly and enforce time-outs and keep you from hurting yourself and your brother. I also get to be one of the two people you look up to and go to for comfort and love without fail the way only a two-almost-three-year-old can. And that is why you are so easy to love right back.

Love,

Mommy