Monday, July 19, 2010

eLLe - 3 years old

Dear Luciya,

Today you are three years and three months old.

In honor of the magic that this trinity of years is brining upon us, let's look at all the ways you're celebrating in triplicate.

Three is the number of parties we had to celebrate your big day. The first was at your preschool, which we're taking a break from for the summer. You brought chocolcate cupcakes (which were RAD, I must say -- the gluten free cake mix was the way to go), wore a purple paper crown, and got to walk around the sun three times. The second party was the quadruple-threat toddler birthday bash, which turned our backyard into a squriming, bouncing, tractor-riding swarm of little bodies, and which was a blast. The thrid party, on the day before your real birthday, was a family dinner in which you received art supplies, clothes, and a purple sleeping bag that's just your size. Needless to say, when you awoke on your actual birthday and I announced the fact you said, "No, it not my birfday, It already happened."

Three is the number of hair lengths you've had since your birthday: Down past your shoulder blades; chopped - for the first time ever - to shoulder-length; and, most recently, bobbed to... a bob. It's a perfectly adorable summertime cut on you. I love it, and so do you.

Three is the number of states of being you have about you:
1) The loving, warm, sweet and helpful, intelligent, huggy day-maker who says and does the cutest things;
2) The incorrigible, irascible, fiery stinkpot pill monster who makes me want to pull my teeth out; and
3) Asleep.

You've grasped the concept of favorites, and if asked your
three favorite things are:
1) Animal - Monkey
2) Color - Purple
3) Person - Little Mirabel

three favorite questions are Why, Why, and Why. "Why, mama? Why do it do that? Why is it like that?" It can go on forever... and ever... and if I try to turn it around and say, "What do you think?" You'll say "What do I think, Mama?" Stinker.

Three is the average number of outfits you'll go through in a day, especially since when (or IF) you take a nap, you insist on wearing jammies. And when you wake up from said nap, you've selected a new outfit to wear. Your creations are really pretty fabulous, and if they're not necessarily cute, they're very Luciya.

three favorite things to do are paint in your art table, jump on your mini trampoline, and roar. I don't know where the "Raaawwwr" came from, but we've had to have some serious talks about appropriate roaring time and place, so now you'll look up sincerely and ask us if you may please go outside and roar (since it's only an outside activity). And we'll say yes, and you'll go outside, and raawwwrr, and then come back in.

Three is how many feet tall you are (plus 2 inches), and you weigh 37 pounds. Your pediatrician warned me about your bmi being too high, but I'm taking that with a grain of salt. You eat very healthily, and rarely have juice or sweets. You are active and happy. You're just... solid. (But, I am more concious of the number of snackies we have in between meals).

Three is the average number of times a day I laugh at or am charmed by the things you say. Some recent favorites:

"When Tutu was born at the hospital you feed Tutu and she started to grow."

"I'm trying to get my hair patches off. I have hair patches like Daddy."

L: "When I was a little girl I live in Heek with my daddy." Mama: "Where's Heek?" L: "You take a left and you take a right and you find Heek!"

"Tuna on the tata! Tuna on the tata!" (After watching a few minutes of Lion King for the first time).

{When viewing the whitewater tumbling down the Payette River}: "It looks like lotion."

three is the number of bounds it took me to get up the stairs and into your room when you cried painfully out in your sleep a few weeks ago. I laid down beside you, curved you into my arms, and said "Mama's here."

You know it.

I love you, Luciya!