but I just sat down!

I’m supposed to marvel that I can’t believe you’re three already. But I feel quite the opposite: It’s only been three years?!

We all forget just how little you really are. You certainly have no idea. Asked your age, you usually answer, “I’m big!” It doesn’t bother you in the slightest that your big brother can outrun you; you believe you’re an equal match, and you never tire of chasing after him on the way to school.

I developed the unfortunate habit of calling you “Bruiser” as a newborn. It had everything to do with your banged-up, purple face, and nothing whatever to do with your temperament. But it may prove fitting after all: You’ve taken more hits than any preschooler I’ve seen, and you’ve come through it OK. Just the other day you catapulted off the couch during a “dance break,” then popped up to assure Daddy: “I’m tough!” In your third year, you added a third scar to your face: This one under your chin, after you fell off a stool and had to go to urgent care for stitches. Your second trip to urgent care — clocked your forehead on your bed — required no treatment. And you managed to avoid a third visit when you plummeted off the top bunk, landing safely on top of Daddy. Don’t worry much about the scars; your dimples are so darn cute no one notices the scars.

But all this banging around has left you with a deep appreciation for doctors. You like to get shots. Really. Last time we saw a doctor, you got extremely upset when you learned you wouldn’t be getting a shot. I’m pretty sure it’s because you think a shot equals a lollipop.

Not surprisingly, your best friend and sometimes greatest adversary is your adored big brother, whom you still call Calkey. My heart thrills when I hear you say “my brother” with such glowing pride of ownership. He is your partner in mischief, your most respected teacher, and your greatest comfort at bedtime. You are very afraid of monsters, but you only get hysterical about it on the rare occasions when you’re put to bed early, alone. Most nights, once Calvin is asleep, you pad quietly out into the hallway, the living room, the kitchen — a little closer to the light and your parents. You stay up for hours, fighting sleep and avoiding the dark.

I love the way you combine practicality with imagination. You’re a straight shooter: You can’t use the potty, you explain, because you don’t know how yet. You recognize “my F,” but not many other letters because “I don’t know those letters yet.” When you don’t know the answer to a question, you simply declare: “I don’t know.” Often, there’s that “yet” — you know you’ll figure it out. You’re just as clear about what you do know, especially when it involves how you’re feeling. It’s hard not to laugh when you’re harrumphing and stomping, and then announce, growling, “I’m grumpy!” You may be the only kid I know who says “woohoo!” when told we’re going grocery shopping. The so-called terrible twos weren’t so bad for you, in part because you rarely let frustration be more than a momentary aggravation. You talk non-stop but are sometimes difficult to understand, plus you often must compete with your very loud big brother for our attention; thanks for your patient efforts to make yourself so clearly understood.

You do a tremendous amount of role-playing. Pirates, Star Wars, doctor, chef, knight, Superman … it’s fun to see how absorbed you get. For all your admiration of Calvin, you’re very much your own person. You can happily play by yourself with a pile of Matchbox cars or Playmobil toys — you spent a few months devoted to the Playmobil airplane — but are quick to jump in when invited to play.

Some of your favorite things these days include Handy Manny (you’re often at work fixing things around the house yourself), Star Wars, playing Lego Star Wars, sausage, juice boxes, watching the helmets crash on Monday Night Football, T-ball, bowling, lining up toys, watching Saturday morning cartoons with Calkey, your dog Boo-Boo, and coloring on your face with markers.

You began to enjoy books more this year. Bedtime books have always been loved, but it was hard to get you to sit down to read any other time. But now you like to cuddle up with us, pretending to read a book yourself. We’ve negotiated a compromise, where sometimes you tell us what’s happening on the page, and then I can read the words.

At 3, you remain polite, offering treats to friends, dishing out thank-yous and your-welcomes, and offering to share. Just this week we had a real argument because you wanted me to eat one of the two mini scones I bought for you. And for your birthday, you’d like to give the rest of us presents.

We’ve had so many wonderful adventures with you this year: visiting with cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles, throwing snowballs at Lake Tahoe, visiting the amusement park, all those hours at T-ball, long walks in new places, and so much more…

But by far, my favorite memories from this year will be of you laughing, singing, always running, running, running. You’ve made age 2 look like the best age to be, and yet you can’t wait to see what the next year will bring. Neither can I.

Love,
Mommy

(More photos at Flickr)
(Last year’s birthday posts)