Update

I do update this website. Occasionally bordering on never.
I think we need a facelift here at geokaz.Stay tuned!

Letters to the O

Forty Six Months

I'm thinking I could probably take last month's entry and copy and paste it as this month's, because things have stayed essentially unchanged. You've remained sick, cycling on and off antibiotics trying to shake bronchitis and pneumonia. I feel like you're a walking three year old cliche- perpetual runny nose and storms of emotional tantrums.

I returned to commuting to work for my new position as the training coordinator but your schedule has remained pretty much the same- school in the morning, Jesse in the afternoon. Your attitude though is remarkably different. You stomp and storm about going to school every morning, fussing about having to get dressed and brush your teeth. When I return home you are morose that Jesse is leaving and often tell me you don't want me there. Small daggers right into my heart.

Dad and I decided that it was time to begin tasking you with a few small chores around the house so you could earn your own money. This has been somewhat successful and you've learned to feed the dogs, empty the recycling, put away dishes and laundry. Each time you tuck away nickles and dimes into your money box, saving for a new matchbox car. As if we didn't have enough of those already.

We've decided to go to Disneyland for Christmas and you're pretty psyched about it. I've shown you the video on the website a few times, which makes it seems as if visiting Mickey Mouse for the holidays will automatically cause you to be sprinkled with pixie dust and fly. I'm actually pretty excited to see what you think about the whole thing and while I know it's likely you'll be overwhelmed and over tired after 2 or 3 hours, I'm hoping it's something you'll remember fondly from your childhood.

I've begun to write you notes to stash into your pockets and take with you to school. I make them in the shapes of stars, moons or hearts and write little messages on them. You adore this and talk about them often. The other day, after reading one that had a comment about you being my "superstar," you informed me that you liked being called superstar, but would also like to be called "hero." Just in case I needed some guidance on what to write.

Letters to the O

Forty Five Months

This month swept by like a whirlwind and I'm sorry to say that you've spent much of it sick. At first it was a cold and sore throat, then it developed into a dry cough. Now it's a low grade fever and a wet cough that you can't shake and keeps you up at night. Initially, the doctor thought it might be asthma and prescribed you a nebulizer. It was strange to help you take breaths through the mask, the mist curling up like smoke into the air. But it's not helped in the slightest and I have to say I'm a bit relieved. I know we could live with your asthma, but I'd really rather not.

We took you to the dentist to assess whether or not you would lose your tooth. Since your accident last month it has turned black. But they confirmed with x rays that the root of the tooth appears to be healthy and it's likely just the blood trauma that has stained the inside of the tooth. This means that in every picture until you're old enough to lose that tooth, you'll look like a hobo. Presents great fodder for Halloween costumes.

When we returned from Europe, your grandma and grandpa from back east came to visit in their RV. Unfortunately, they also brought the ENTIRE contents of your Dad and Uncle Peter's toy collection that had been previously been crowding their basement and left it in our living room. This meant that your matchbox car collection swelled to several hundred cars and now included play sets with bridges, tracks and garage bays. You're pretty psyched about this and now that we've bought another shelf for your closet that will house all this stuff, I think it's pretty rad myself.

I was reading a book to you last night and realized that you can count to 30. Okay- to 20/10. It goes 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, Twenty-ten. Makes perfect sense. You also know all the days of the week, letter sounds, seasons and you've been producing some pretty cool art projects these days. It's all a result of your time at school, where you seem to be absorbing concepts like a sponge. It's so strange though because on the opposite side, you still haven't figured out how to climb out of your crib and show no desire to stop wearing pull ups at night. And in a way I'm glad to hold onto those last few vestiges of babyhood. Every night you call me into your room after lights out and tell me that you "really, really, really, really, really love me." And it reminds me that I won't always be the most important person in your world and I better enjoy it while I can.