Dear Marshall,
We’re overdue for a post of random stories about you, so here goes.
- One morning you started chattering about firewood. I don’t know what caused the sudden obsession, but now, every time we go outside, you insist on walking down to the stack of firewood and carrying a small log or two up to the house. We don’t need any firewood right now. We’re letting you stack the logs in front of the house purely for your own satisfaction. This obsession is cute but sort of frustrating, because we know that when you get older and we ask you to fetch firewood, you’re going to complain. You will, you know. It’s almost guaranteed.
- You decided to climb onto the first level of the cat tree the other day. I suppose I ought to have told you to get down, but I thought it was funny. I said, “Marshall, are you a cat?” You started to meow and bat at one of the the dangling cat toys. I took pictures. Now you think it’s a ton of fun to climb on the cat tree. The cats are not pleased. It’s my fault for encouraging you, but I can’t quite manage to make myself feel bad about it. I think you’re the cutest cat ever.
- At the end of the day we always rinse out your sippy cup. That way, if we neglect to wash it the next day, it will not be filled with curdling leftover beverage. You often make things difficult, though, by hiding the cup. As time goes on, I discover more and more of your hiding places. One is the lowest shelf on the back of the pantry door. Another is the cubby on the treadmill. But I haven’t found them all yet, and you recently hid one cup so well that it was missing for most of the week. When it was finally found, eeewwwwww! Thank goodness the straw had come loose inside so that there was no way you could have inadvertently drunk any of it. Neither your father nor I knows where you hid it or how it turned up on the counter days later. Oh, well. I suppose everyone needs to keep a few secrets. They give one an aura of mysteriousness.
- I had heard that little boys could get themselves extremely dirty while playing outside, but I really had no idea. We’re talking white socks turned dark brown, mud-impacted fingernails, dirt rings around the neck, gritty scalp, black inside the nose, and sand down the pants. It’s a good thing you like baths so much, because we have to give you one almost every day.
- We have a couple of Halloween-themed potholders. During the Halloween season I hung them on the cabinet handles. That was months ago, but you remember it and you think hanging potholders on cabinets is a fine idea. Every once in a while, you raid the potholder drawer and do this:
- If I could have had a say in which genes you would inherit from your father and which ones you would inherit from me, I might have asked that you get your father’s hair. Sorry, but you got mine, and I apologize for its unruliness. Your mop is so thick that it’s practically impervious to water. You need a haircut badly, but with Easter coming up, your father wants to wait until just before the holiday so you’ll look your best for the family. Stupid me, I mentioned to your dad that you probably like getting your hair cut because you always get a lollipop afterward. Then I asked you if you liked lollipops. Oh, geez. After that, all day long, you pestered us. “Go car? Have haircut? Get lollipop?” Now I understand why so many parents resort to S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G certain words around their children. Add “haircut” and “lollipop” to our spelling list, ASAP!
Love,
Mom