Ashton turns 3 - Part 1

There is a whole world of "mommy bloggers" out there and I have read lots of their stuff. Usually on birthdays or special occasions, they write long sappy letters to their kids, highlighting their favorite things about them and describing the impossible love they have for them. I'd like to do that, except Ashton is such a darned PITA lately it's hard to think of what I would write. The 3's have already hit, and hard. It's not terrible twos, it's terrible three's. Trust me on this. But anyway, I'm going to give it a try.

Ahem.

Dear Ashton,

You turned 3 two days ago. I can honestly say, this year has gone the fastest and you are all of a sudden an actual, real-sized kid. Not a toddler, not a baby. A kid. Allow me to tell you about yourself.

You love fruit snacks. They are probably your favorite food. You don't really eat baked goods, ice cream or candy that much so these are the next best thing. As such, you ask for them all the time and I have learned very creative ways of saying "No." At least, I think they are creative but you know what I'm really saying and after asking and asking and asking and asking for yet more fruit snacks and not getting them, you throw yourself on the floor and cry like there's no tomorrow. You scream. I honest-to-god worry what the neighbors think I must be doing to you. You also love crackers, and I think you might just love to say the word because you find a way to repeat it all the time. "Cackers! Gimme CACKERS! Cackers cackers cackers, mommy, I want cackers." You are my little cracker monster.

While we are on words and therefore speech, you can't say "r" or "l" very well and some of your pronunciation is downright hysterical, but you talk up a storm. For whatever reason, popsicles are "copsicles" and popcorn is "copcorn" and those are just two examples of the many little word-isms that you have. Some of the things that come out of your mouth stop me and/or your dad right in our tracks. In a good way. We love sharing stories about you between us. One of the things we always say to each other, apropos of nothing, is "God he is so big." Like we just can't believe our eyes sometimes. And it's true, people comment all the time on how tall you are. Here are your latest stats:

Height: Ummm...
Weight: Well...

See, what happened is, I forgot to make you a 3 year pediatrician appointment. I called on Monday to ask when it was and they said, "You never scheduled it." I said, "Really?" And they said, "Yes." "Didn't you even call to remind me?" "Yes, we did."

Oops :-( So, it's in September now.

Besides being big, you are incredibly rambunctious. Loud. "All boy" as they say. You run, spin, bounce, jump and hurl your little body everywhere. You love to swim, scooter, swing, and slide. Dirt is your friend and your knees often look like this.

I always joke that it's hard to tell which is which between the dirt and the bruises. It really is! Our poor bathtub is perpetually brown because you love dirt so much. You put it in your water table. And then you get the garden hose and make a mud puddle to drive your trucks through.

Our laundry machine has started to ask for more money. I might take it from your piggy bank.

You also love construction vehicles, trucks, trains and all those boy toys. I swear, I did not push you that way. We bought you that stuff because that is what got you excited and happy. The day that there were actual, real-life machines working on our street was the best day of your life.

What else. Oh, haircuts are a disaster. You are the king of "two minutes!" when it comes to transitioning and I don't know what I would do without my iPhone timer. And while I'm on my iPhone, you know how to use it. It's scary. What is also scary is that when we read the classic books, like Goodnight Moon, you don't know what the black thing on the nightstand is.

You ask me "Where's the phone Mommy?". I presume millions of other kids don't recognize it either. Nothing proves that "times change" more than watching my kid learn about a world that is different from what mine was. Preschool starts in a month and will be the official beginning of your education.

Anyway, as busy as you are, you always settle down for your stories before naptime (which is about 2 hours in the afternoon) and bed and it is one of my favorite times because you are still. You sit on my lap, listen and ask questions and I love it. What I don't love is reading the same book a zillion times but you seem to find it comforting. [Side note: some of the books that are out there boggle my mind. I think to myself: "someone made actual money by having this published? A monkey could have written it!" and I've added "come up with children's book idea" to my list of things to do. It honestly can't be that hard given what's made it to the library shelves.]

When it comes to Alex, there isn't exactly a "world's greatest big brother" t-shirt in your dresser ;) But you are getting there and learning he is not a toy. "Gentle" is your key word. When Alex needs a diaper, you are right there to help me and when he is crying, you pat him and say "I right here All-yex, I right here." Or you run to me to tell me he needs a paci. You proudly show strangers "your baby" when we are out and I know it won't be long until you are best friends.

I have some tough business coming up as your mom. We have a lot of transitions to get through. 3 seems like a monster age and what was acceptable when you were 2, well...some stuff has gotta go. Specifically your crib and your highchair at dinnertime (perhaps I'm the one clinging to these because they confine you!). Also, your pacifiers and diapers (yesterday marked the first potty poop so we are on our way!). But it's hard not to feel like I'm failing or that everything is my fault. Like I should be stricter with your paci, or the reason you're not potty-trained is because diapers are just flat-out easier for me. Maybe you don't listen because I don't enforce consequences. Sometimes I'm so tired, you watch more TV than I'd like. We should brush your teeth twice a day but only do it once. More vegetables, less fruit snacks. That kind of thing. But even as I stress about my own shortcomings and the day-to-day, it can't change the happy, healthy, energetic, curious little boy that you are and for that I am grateful. You and your brother are everything I live and breathe for. This blog exists because of you and is a testament to the joy you bring to my life. I'm sarcastic a lot of the time because frankly it's funnier and no one likes to read sappy letters like this. But it's your birthday and this is what mommy bloggers write on birthdays ;)

xoxoxo
i love you i love you i love you
Mom

[edit September 2014: Ashton weighs 38 pounds and is 40.25 inches tall]