Thursday, January 22, 2009
My dear Finnie Boom.
I had to talk your sister down last night. She decided she didn't want a brother anymore.
That her life is really, as she put it, rough.
All because of you and how she used to be everything to you and now, when you're not pushing her or biting her or dumping her hair bows all over the ground or taking off your pants in public, you're refusing to kiss her goodnight or scrunching up your nose and growling:
"Not nice, Reese! Not nice!"
About what, we don't know. Anyway, I had to explain to her about the Terrible Twos. I explained they were like an affliction and we needed to help you get over them and get to the Three-riffic Threes. And the Fantastic Four's. And, of course, the Fabulous Fives.
So this morning, as you were pulling one of your more endearing moves like pushing her out my lap or making weird faces over breakfast, I heard her say to you:
"Oh, Finnie, you're just TERRIBLE. You can't help it - you're two. I'm FABULOUS and five and you, you are TERRIBLE."
And honestly Finn, Reese has it right, mostly. You are a terror, everything in your path knocked over or stepped on. Screaming at the top of your lungs regularly. Not wanting to do anything anyone wants you to do. And then, there's today. Just you and me at the little music time at the park and you sat when you were supposed to sit and danced when you were supposed to dance. You laughed out loud at all the songs and put your right hand in and your left hand out. We walked to the car, your little hand in mind. We looked at the ducks in the pond behind you and I took this picture of you today: I asked you to smile and you did. An amazing smile. Completely for me.
Finnie, you are terribly WONDERFUL. Terribly LOVELY. Terribly MINE.
I love you, sweet boy.