daddy's girl

eLLe - 43 months

Dear Luciya,

Happy 43 months. Let's have a little talk.

Luciya: "Awight!"

Luciya: "I love you, Mama."

Mama: "I love you, too."
Luciya: "I love you so much you get burned by a walrus."

Luciya: "Say dilly dilly doe."

Everyone in the car: "Dilly dilly doe."
Mama: "What is that?"
Luciya: "It's a new word I learned in preschool.
Mama: "What does it mean?"

Luciya: "It means you don't eat the trees, you just climb the trees."

Luciya: "Mama, I ate your armpit."
Mama: "You ate my armpit?! How did it taste?"

Luicya: "Like watermelons."

Luciya: "When Halloween comes again next year you know what I'm going to be? I'm going to be a building. The building where Dada works. And Mirabel is going to be a little tiny fish."

This year, they were a Rainbow Fairy and a pink kitty

Luciya: "Puke was at Kindergarten."
Mama: "What was Puke doing at Kindergarten?"

Luciya: "Puking."

Mama: "Ah."

Luciya: "I'm the Kindergarten teacher."

Mama: "How many students do you have?"
Luciya: "Five."

Mama: "What are their names?"

Luciya: "Puker and Kinder and Nala and Nobody and Nama."

Forty-three months, three years and seven months, closer to four. Thank goodness, because the topic of conversation that dominates 99% of conversations - aside from getting burned by a walrus - is "my next birthday!" When Grams and Grandpa Peter head to the store you're sure to request "party hats for my next birthday!" The outfits get planned and changed. The menu has gotten quite extensive. So far it includes, sparkly cake, purple cupcakes, muffins, and chicken soup with cream and guacamole.

Age forty-three months is when we've started giving up the daily nap. It's been so very much easier than I ever thought it could be. I like the two-hour space in the afternoon. But nighttime had turned into a near-bloody brawl and left everyone pulling their hair in exasperation with your feisty refusals to fall asleep before 9:30 pm. And now, evenings are peaceful. And the days really aren't so long!

In fact, the afternoon hours, coupled with the cold-cold days, has meant crafting hours galore. In the past couple weeks, you and I have created stained glass jars, picture frames from Popsicle sticks, homemade play dough (and ornaments from the dough), gift bags, and spent endless hours with stickers, markers, crayons, puzzles, paints, and clay. It's my goal to have a completely homemade Christmas this year, and things are looking charmingly good.

When you were two years old, I can't tell you how many times I got warned about how much worse three was going to be. But I've got to say, I'm not going to be one handing out those warnings. Yes, you're deliberate, and feisty, and demanding, and rebellious, but more than that you're adorable. And sweet. And kind and smart and helpful and creative and funny and endearing. You love to love... so much we often find ourselves getting burned by walruses. My heart is effervescent when I think of all the delight you bring me. I love you so.

Love,
Mama

gesuntheit!