My Little 3 Year Old

Dearest Eli,

I just wanted to take a few minutes to capture a snapshot of who you are at this moment in time.

You are still my fiercely independent three year old little man whose stubborn streak is a mile wide.  You think you rule the roost, especially when you try and parent your older brother.  The loud and firm voice you attempt to use is quite endearing, even if it does earn you some reprimands.

You are very particular about many things – you must have your “pack pack” (aka back pack) and sometimes your real phone and your real keys so you can go to the bus stop with your older siblings.  Your socks must be put on before your pants.  You must have your “papple” slices in your own bowl.  You must get your own stool and your own toothbrush ready before brushing your own teeth – it’s hard for us to inspect your work when you are done.

And if things don’t get done quite to your liking, you are sure to let the whole neighborhood know.  You were born screaming – you were definitely my loudest in the delivery room – and your lungs still know how to get a good workout .

But you also have a tender side that I adore.  I love hearing your sweet and infectious laugh that bubbles throughout the whole room.  Lately you have loved to laugh at the antics of Little Bear while watching his adventures.

I love to hear your sweet voice sing along to “I Love to See the Temple” while we are driving around in the car running errands.  And yes, I will put that song on repeat so I can hear you sing along that much more.

I love to snuggle with you and I love the warm embraces you offer.

Normally you love to play with only things that are real, but lately you have allowed your imagination to grow.  One of your favorite things at the moment is using your play tools to fix things around the house.  Your other favorite thing to do is cook.

You go shopping downstairs in the family room/playroom area.

You then haul your goods upstairs to the kitchen and then insist you set up your space in the real kitchen so you can cook.

Then you slice your food.

And put it on the stove.

And adjust the temperature.  (Yes, you told me all about every step you were doing.)

And then eat your yumminess … though we need to properly teach you that we pretend to eat the pretend food.

Well, right now you are calling again.  I adore that sweet voice of yours and I love hearing you explain what is going through your mind.

lots of love,
MOMMY 

P.S.  This post has been submitted to MamaBlogga’s October 2011 Group Writing Project.

 

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