Dear Tristan - 2 Years, 10 Months

Dear Tristan,
Every day I see or hear you do something that I want to remember to blog in your monthly entry. There is so much that you do that simply amazes me. Of course, by the time I sit down to write an entry you are sleeping upstairs in your chair and not even a cup of iced coffee can jog my memory to recall all of the cuteness that is you.
I could write about your obsession with booboos and bandaids. Or how you torment your brother by taking something that's his and running for your life to hide behind my legs claiming that you had it first. I could mention the little bit of sass you are experimenting with, finding that calling Mommy and Daddy names lands you in time out, even if Cuckoo-Popper isn't really an insult. Maybe your obsession with bugs. Your fear of mosquitos, swimming pools, said bugs and sunscreen.


I could write an entire entry on how quickly you've potty trained, even staying dry through the night and naps. We've been bribing you with the jellybeans left over from Easter and now we've moved on to m&ms. For the first time in almost five years I can not remember the last time I changed a poopy diaper. If I wrote an entire entry on potty training you, it would certainly include the neurotic flushing process you go through. Before going potty, you flush. You pee. You flush. You poop. You flush. You wipe. You flush. You finish pooping. You flush. You wipe. You flush. And if it's not all gone down. You flush again. I've tried explaining to you that you only flush once and even tried to make you get on the potty and finish your business without flushing in between jobs, but you refuse to even sit on the potty with that filth in the bottom. I guess it can go on for another week or so just until you really get comfortable with it all. I'm so proud of you.


I probably would like to forget how you torment the cat, chasing him and roaring like a lion because you think it's hysterical to watch him panic. I could also forget the screaming tantrum that you throw when we put you down for bed, as you take a page from your brothers book, yelling, "I want to tell you something!", over and over again. I've fallen for it a couple of times and the thing that you want to tell me is the free association stream of consciousness that's running through your mind. Anything that keeps me from closing your door for bed.
I could probably also stand to forget how if you don't like something that you've been given for dinner, you spit it out. Onto your plate. Immediately. Chewed or not. It's gross and we can't seem to break you of it.

I probably should write about how when you get hungry you go and sit in your seat, patiently waiting for your dinner. You are on a mission and you are serious about it.
Your Dad and I often talk about how sneaky you are. We, of course, can tell when you have a piece of food from the table that's being hidden in your hands or a toy that's been tucked into your pants, but you think you are getting away with something. If you are quiet, you are definately up to something... or sleeping in your chair.
I love you more than Sun and Light,
Mommy