RECENTLY
I am convinced that three year olds are wild animals. Like Wild Smurf, here, they do not communicate well and yet have a persistence and dedication all their own. My Baby Bear is happiest outside, running free. Digging in the garden, watering the flowers and investigating the many six-legged critters that inhabit our backyard.Inside is a different matter. He is still a touch on the wild side, but the activity level does not work as well in our 900 square foot house. Mostly, however, he is quite independent and a very good helper. He pours his own milk, getting most of it in the cup. He rinses the dishes, keeping most of the water in the sink. He dresses himself and leaves most of the rest of the clothes in the drawer. His love of reading may be evidenced by the pile of books that develops next to him as he reads each one from the shelf and lays it aside. When he sets himself to helping with chores, he is a sight to behold. His diligent efforts to wash walls and mop floors is truly commendable. He even helps lay out towels to sop up the lake he makes.
Oh, and did I mention he is blue, too? He got into some food coloring and, well, he looks just like a smurf. Isn't that just smurfy?
My little Baby Bear:
After a day zooming up and down the hall, riding his firetruck, he chooses to sleep with his most prized possession. He says he's a Firebuster, as he sings portions of the the theme song to his favorite video. "My pyer twuck is hot...MOKIN'...its da heartbeat of da pyer tation...my pyer twuck."
If you would like something of more educational value, Shannon has an excellent post about reading.
Or you can check out my evening's work on my other blog. I am working on developing my curriculum for Nebraska state history in small increments on my Nebraska blog. I think the first one turned out nice. And I'm looking forward to doing this study with my daughter. America's Westward Expansion is such an exciting part of our nation's history...and we live right in the middle of it!
My Baby Bear is a two year old bundle of energy. He is very talkative and loves singing. He is soft and snuggly and will curl up in my lap for frequent but short bursts of reassuring cuddles before racing off to something else to explore.
He runs and climbs and will play quietly with his toy cars for hours. His favorite toy is a small road scraper his dad bought him when he took him out for a day. He even sleeps with it. The last time I asked, he said he wanted to be a fire truck when he grew up.
When he was a baby, he made all kinds of bear-like growls and grumbles. His personality seemed to match that of a little bear cub. He is sweet and cute, but tends to blunder through things rather than try to go around them. He has had problems with biting in the past as well as pushing but it never seemed agressive. He does not seem aware of his strength or that these actions actually cause pain to other people.
His favorite way to put himself to sleep use to be to snuggle close and rub someone's ear. He would even ask for it in his cute toddler-speak, "Mommy, tan I hab you ea-aw?" And he would rub it gently until he fell asleep. If no one else's ear was available, he would rub his own.
There is one thing that puzzles me about this little guy, and I know someday (probably very soon) it will end and I think I will miss it very much. When he is tired, and particularly when he has been in trouble, he comes to me and asks in a questioning voice, "Mommy, do monkeys climb up the trees?" I answer that "Yes, monkeys climb up the trees," and he seems able to pick himself up and get on with his day, forgetting the consequence or the nuisance he just endured. It seems that all's right with the world so long as the monkeys climb up the trees.
He adores his "Ota" (my Little Mouse) and follows her everywhere. He so much wants to be able to do all she can do, and there is no joy like that present when his sister takes time to play with him. He also dearly loves his baby sister, whom he hugs and kisses each morning and says good morning to her. When she fusses, he runs to me from wherever he is, dropping whatever he is doing to announce, "Oh no! The baby crying! The baby crying!" He does not believe that precious bundle should have to spend one moment in unconsoled fussing, even if it was his rambunctious hug that started the fuss in the first place.
His name means "Crowned warrior." It is my prayer that he will one day be able to focus all that energy and some of that recklessness for Christ. I can't imagine anything standing in his way.