Greetings Little One

For identification purposes

You told your preschool teacher, Tonya,that Daddy’s name is Matt and Mommy’s name is Elysha.

You also frequently refer to our cat as “the kitty cat named Oh-oh.”

Pretty smart, little one.

Bless you

I just sneezed, little one. 

You said, “Daddy, bless you.”

First time I ever heard you say this. 

So cute. 

Of course, I have a small problem with the whole Bless you formality, and while I am more than willing to teach you to say it as a matter of social convention, I hope to someday have a more intellectual discussion with you on the matter of offering blessings to those who you presume to possess spiritual or supernatural beliefs. 

I almost never say Bless you, replacing this nicety with a different but equally kind compliment.

For example, my students sneezes. 

Not wanting to presume that my student possesses an applicable belief system, I say something like, “I loved your effort today” or “You answered those fraction problems brilliantly.”

A friend sneezes. 

I say something like, “I’d say “Bless you” but I don’t know if you believe in God or the superstitious origins behind the Bless you, and who am I to offer a blessing anyway?  I’m hardly qualified for such a thing.  So I’ll just tell you that you that I think that tee shot on the fourth hole was great and leave it at that.”

Saying Bless you will probably not offend a single person in the whole entire world, little one, but it still seems wrong to me, and therefore I avoid it whenever possible.  You may not choose to institute my Bless you ban when you get older, but what I’d at least like for you to learn is tolerance for the nonconformist. 

Mommy, for example, has no problem with saying “Bless you” even though she understands my intellectual argument against it.  For her, and for most people (and perhaps all people), it is not something worth her time.  Bless you is a nice thing to say when someone sneezes, and to say something like, “Sorry, I don’t say Bless you but that’s a great pair of shoes you’re wearing!” admittedly runs the risk of making you look like a lunatic.

Daddy is willing to run that risk.  Most reasonable people are not.

But Mommy does not scoff at my position.  She does not deride it or attempt to change it.  She does not think less of me because of it.  She accepts me and my idiosyncrasies (and intellectual acuity) and I love her for it.

This is why Mommy had a friend named Chainsaw in high school.  This is why Mommy has more friends than just about anyone I know, even though she is miserable at correspondence.  She does not enjoy talking on the phone, rarely listens to voicemails, never listens to messages on the answering machine, yet everyone still loves her.  She’s willing to accept just about everyone.  Even your occasionally crazy Daddy.  Nanni and Gramps laugh at the wide variety of friends who Mommy brought home for dinner over the years, and it’s one of the reasons I love her so much.

Her acceptance for all people and the friendship and love that she receives in return is a blessing in our lives that you must never underestimate.   

So I’m hoping that someday you might join the Bless you ban, maybe just so that I don’t have to stand alone anymore, but also because I think it’s a valid and reasonable position to hold.  I’d sincerely like to replace Bless you with a more meaningful and appropriate response, and though it’s unlikely to happen, every movement begins with one person.

I am currently in a movement of one.  Maybe someday you will double that number.

But if you are willing to accept me as Mommy has, that will be good enough.   

Or perhaps you could simply use the alternative to Bless you, which is Gesundheit, which is a German and Yiddish word for Health.

Nothing wrong with wishing someone health regardless of their religious or spiritual belief. 

I don’t use Gesundeit unless I am in a hurry or dealing with a complete stranger.

It’s not as fun as offering a random compliment and opening the door to a little proselytizing.  

Percussionists and little queens

Mommy brought you to Town Meeting today, little one, to watch me play the the drums in the faculty band. 

You were less than pleased with the fact that I could not join you as a member of the audience until you managed to find this crown, which you proceeded to wear upside down for the duration of the afternoon.  

Quite cute, little one.

Mommy is Elysha

It turns out that you know Mommy’s first name, little one. 

More impressively, you seem to understand that Mommy is Elysha, and that she is still to be referred to as Mommy. 

Mommy:  Clara, who am I?

Clara:  Mommy!

Mommy:  Clara, what is Mommy’s name?

Clara:  Elysha!

Mommy:  Clara, who am I?

Clara: Mommy!

It didn’t take long for us to teach you my first name as well. 

Everyday you seem to surprise us with some new and interesting bit of knowledge, acquired in ways that we cannot begin to imagine.

Shades

Mommy rarely leaves the house without her sunglasses, little one.  It’s as if her corneas are allergic to direct sunlight.  I sometimes wonder if she knows what the world looks like beyond her darkened shades.   

Oddly enough, I am exactly the opposite.  Unable to stop myself from losing or breaking sunglasses, I rarely wear them.  

Mommy sent me this photograph yesterday morning, which may be indicative of the direction that you are learning in terms of eyewear:

High fevers but no worries

You’re sick, little one, and when you are sick, you treat your illness like a professional.  You routinely manage fevers around 103 and 104 degrees without any trouble, and it is only through the magic of Motrin that these high temperatures can be temporarily brought down. 

Mommy and I are surprisingly calm about the whole thing, at least according to some of the more experienced parents who I know.  They say that they would routinely panic at the sight of such a high fever, especially in their first child, and even after the doctors told them not to worry. 

I guess that Mommy and I look for reasons not to worry.  And when found, we embrace these reasons with the same ferocity that we embrace you.

We worry about you at times, little one, but overall, we don’t worry too much.  I’m not sure why, especially in light of all the parents I know who spend their lives in perpetual concern, this probably bodes well for your future. 

A little baby becomes a little kid

I still think of you as my little baby, little one.

But sometimes I look at you, like in these photos that Mommy took, and I think that you’re already a little kid, and that my little baby is fading into the past. 

There’s nothing better than watching you learn something new, and I love to listen as you speak in babbles and words and bits of words, but part of me is still clinging to your babyhood, little one.  I’m holding on with all my might to that blessed time of life when you are all ours, before we are forced to watch you step into the world as a human being. 

Those days are coming to an end.  I can feel it.  You’re spending your days at school, making new friends and falling in love with your teachers.  We are sharing you with the world now, and while the world is the better for it, Mommy and I are not.

We’re selfish.  We want you all to ourselves, Clara.   

But I’ll keep rocking you like a baby and happily changing your diapers for as long as possible.  The past nineteen months have not gone by too fast.  It just turns out that nineteen months is not very long.     

Long day on the job

I had to work at a backyard wedding in Bridgewater, CT, today, little one, a little farm town more than an hour away. 

I read you a story around 12:30 and kissed you goodbye, and then Mommy put you down for your nap.  Then I went downstairs, finished the draft of the next chapter of my book, packed up, drove to Bengi’s house, loaded the truck, drove out to Bridgewater, unloaded the truck, and set up my system, all before you woke up.

Quite a nap, little one.

It was a long day for me, and much of it was spent away from you and Mommy, so she sent me some videos and photos throughout the night to boost my spirits and keep me happy.   

Happy Anniversary!

It’s our fourth anniversary, little one.

Not our third, as I may have indicated on the anniversary card I gave your mother today. 

Cleaning up

You’ve begun to show signs of favoring order to disorder, little one, and I couldn’t be happier.  I am an obsessive organizer, a minimalist and a hater of clutter.  I put things away when I am done with them and believe in a specific place for every thing.  Bags of merchandise should not be left for later, mail should be handled only once, suitcases should be emptied immediately upon return from a vacation and clothing should not be thrown on the floor. 

Without prompting or shoving, you’ve shown a desire to put your books away at night, clean your highchair off when you’re finished eating, and  put your blocks away when you’re done playing.  Yesterday you put the banana squares that you didn’t eat into a Tupperware bowl for me. 

Of course, you then proceeded to remove them, but you’re only seventeen months old.  It’s a start.

When your grandparents describe Mommy as a little girl, they use world like perfect, angel and sweet.  Except for her unruly, bursting-at-the-seams mess of a bedroom, she was, according to her parents, the best child who ever lived.

But still, she had a messy room.  A very messy room, sometimes so messy it spilled out into the hallway.  And though she’s come a long, long way from those childhood days, she’s not nearly as obsessive-compulsive about neatness, order and organization as I am.

So I’m hoping to have you on my OCD team someday soon.  Maybe together we can convert Mommy into the lunatic that I already am.