Dear Kids,
Here is one last collection of stories about you from 2015.
One day earlier this year you littered the floor with strips of construction paper. Your father and I were appalled at the waste of paper, and we couldn’t understand why you had done it. But then we looked closer and realized that each scrap had a face. You had created a horde of friendly worms. They were sort of cute. So I couldn’t stay mad over it, but I did keep a closer eye on the paper for a while!
We had an uninvited guest at one point this year. His name was Mr. Squeakers. He broke into our pantry, sampled a variety of foods, and made quite mess. He was physically evicted, but he stayed with us in spirit, becoming a sort of invisible friend or mascot for you. He sometimes left us notes, and you sometimes wrote letters to him. I thought it was sweet, but I never liked Mr. Squeakers, because he had had the nerve to take my Pop Tart. But you didn’t mind that. You thought it was hysterical, probably because it wasn’t your Pop Tart!
I gave Livia a strong cardboard box top so that she could stretch rubber bands across it to make a “guitar.” I used to do the same thing when I was a kid, so I understood exactly what she wanted to do. I helped her to put the strings on and tune them. She played her rubber-band guitar well. I videotaped her and managed to catch this wonderful, impromptu song:
I got my own guitar with rubber band stri-i-ings.
I got my own guitar. Hmm-hmm-hmm.
I used cardboard for the bottom,
Rubber bands for the tops and strings.
Hmm-hmm-hmm.
I got my own guitar with a pick. Hmm-hmm-hmm.
Two different, two the same.
I got my own guitar.
Ohhh, yeah.
It was a fun year with paper worms and Mr. Squeakers and rubber band strings. Ohhh, yeah.
Love,
Mom