Dear Fern (part XL)

Dear Fern,

We mostly use Roman numerals for these letters; that makes you XL months old. Extra large, indeed: every day you seem taller and bigger, more solid little girl than any kind of baby. You're more lucid and funny and stubborn and just plain more grown up than ever. Even the baby clothes you insist on wearing every few days are getting larger -- you squeeze into the 18-month clothes instead of raiding Claudia's newborn outfits.

40 Months

Monsters have become rather an obsession for you. The giants of preschool literature -- Sesame Street and Frances -- make monsters seem fun and lovable, and so you're totally unclear about why anyone would be scared of them. Scooby Doo is your special bedtime treat, which explains that whenever we play "monsters" you finish up by pulling off your mask and saying "Guess who I really am?" (It's usually the creepy caretaker from the first scene. Who knew?)
As before, you have some pretty testy moments, and they're still nearly always down to a lack of food. The very idea of sitting through an entire meal when it's so much more fun to imagine a napkin ring into life as a guy named Diver Dave who just has to sing one more song before taking a bite -- well, you get the picture. The conventional wisdom is that we should simply make food available at mealtimes and figure you'll eat it when you're hungry. That's great, but any subsequent physical exertion turns you into a starving, seething wreck if we try that, so we have reverted to a little mild cajoling.

So, now, what else happened this month. Oh, right: you started school.

You started SCHOOL!

Your first day, you were a little tentative, probably because we made the logistical error of taking you in at the same moment that every other kid arrived. You were bombarded with well-meaning but overwhelming suggestions of what to do next. At the beginning, you would have been pretty happy just poking through the dollhouse, but one parent would come over and say, "Here, try this!" and another would say, "No, play with my kid!" and on and on until your eyes were spinning. Once the hordes departed, though, you were more or less happy for a couple of hours.

Day two, though, you met a boy who shares your love of Scooby Doo and fast cars. And then a couple of girls who love to bake. And then there were fish to paint and octopuses to stich up and stories to hear, and you sent daddy off for coffee for two hours without even a second look.

So all told, it took you about an hour to warm up to school. It's taking your parents a lot longer to get used to it. We love watching your successes, of course, but all the same it's a little jarring that a whole gaggle of new people are getting to know you, and at first, they don't know you that well.

Your teacher asks if you need the potty a couple of times a day. You've never had trouble with functions: if you need to go, you say so, and if not, you say you don't. Since you didn't use the potty for three hours, teacher seems to worry that you're rejecting the bathroom completely, which, to be fair, is probably a reasonable fear for a preschool teacher. But that's just not you: you go when you need to, and you have for over a year. It's a minor thing to be sure, but it's the beginning of many years of interactions with teachers who will misunderstand you in ways large and small, and we need to accept that as part of your enlarging world.

And that's it, isn't it? For the first time, you'll have direct relationships, unmediated by us, with someone other than your family and a close circle of friends. You'll come home some day soon and tell us all about Susie or Danny or Wilhemina -- and we, your parents, won't have been the ones who introduced you. Which is exactly how it's supposed to work, of course, but you'll forgive us, I hope, for coming along slowly.

Not you, of course: you're still charging forward with all your imaginary and real friends (and crime-fighting Great Danes).

We love you very, very much,

Mommy & Daddy

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If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXXIX

Dear Fern,

"Boots beets bats beets toots.
Beets abby do ba dee do
It's very clear to see
Bob the Builder we can do it
Bob the Builder yes we can!"

Jump.

You turn three and a quarter today, and during the the three months it's taken us to finally write one of these "monthly" letters, you've occupied yourself mostly by composing songs (like that one), adoring your sister, and engaging in a little multiple personality hijinks.

Joey and Dodo, your two most common imaginary visitors, come less frequently these days. In their stead you take on the personalities of "Mimi" or "Petey" (who appear to be the same person). Mimi-Petey, amazingly, is a lot like you, although she's always on her best behavior -- she acts exactly like you do with your grandparents, aunts, and uncles when we're not around.

Notification that you've transformed into Mimi usually comes when you ask something along the lines of "Is Fern coming with us today?" or "Where will Fern sleep?" It doesn't faze us anymore, but it's a little amusing to see people who don't know this game try to come up with a response.

You're terrific with your sister, though you do get frustrated sometimes when Claudia steals the attention that is, after all, rightfully yours. Most of the time, however, you offer hugs and kisses when she's crying and ply her with toys when she's not. We're a little jealous, in fact, at how quickly you can console her -- you're fairly clearly her favorite form of entertainment.

We are constantly amazed with how big you're getting. You're really tall. Your hands are real kid's hands. You've lost all trace of baby fat and straightened out into a big girl. It's jarring sometimes to see you jump easily off a ledge that would have stymied you (or meant a skinned knee) even three months ago.

We recently accomplished a major milestone: the elimination of all tangles from your hair. Despite the professional advice of a purported children's hair specialist, we managed -- through multiple viewings of Mary Poppins as we laboriously picked out every knot -- to return your hair to its original, waist-length, dreadlock-free splendor.

In other news, you've started the next level of tumbling class, the one where you no longer have a parent accompany you. We watch from the bleachers as a coach directs you on the trapeze and trampoline -- your first experience as an independent student. You took to it amazingly well, and that's just one good sign that you'll adapt well to nursery school. That starts in June -- less than a month away! -- and you're apparently pretty ready. Already, you've asked for a computer ("for school!") and a desk ("for school!") and you've taken to washing your face in a novel and particular way ("for school!").

We love you very, very much,

 

Mommy & Daddy

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If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXXVI

Dear Fern,

Unbelievably, you turn three years old today. What's most astounding about your birthday is that you've seemed three (or sometimes four, or twelve, or twenty-two) for quite a while already. At least a couple of times a week, a stranger asks you something along the lines of "Are you four and a half yet?" And although it was oh-so-fun to reply smugly "No, she's still two," we're glad that we can say "three" now. The number suits you better.

Looking Up

As Claudia responds more, she's becoming ever more fun for you. You especially love to take care of her, which is gratifying to watch -- and hear, as you repeat oddly modified versions of our own words of comfort. (A recent example was "That's okay, that's okay big sister, honey honey!" Note that you call Claudia your 'big sister' these days, apparently in full awareness of the irony of that.) You do have an uncanny ability to calm her from one of her few crying jags: a certain way with the rattle.

At the same time, you're acting out a fair bit of sibling jealousy. It's not that you're ever mean to your sister -- at worst, you'll occasionally ask us to "put the baby down" when you want to play. Since she was born, though, you've frequently insisted on wearing "baby clothes," which means digging out some infant outfits and squeezing into them. Given a lot of elastic, some nice baby sweatpants have turned into very tight shorts on you, and we're sure you've startled many playground parents with your midriff-baring outfits.

In another unpleasant twist, you've lately begun to insist that you want to throw up -- just like Claudia spits up. You got a book meant to demystify medical problems -- lots of illustrations of happy children having their broken arms set in plaster -- and that got you started. No actual vomit yet, and for a while there you seemed pretty ticked off that we weren't letting you hurl.

You're still somewhat eccentric, even for a three-year old. Much to the consternation of your more compulsive friends, you always put marker caps back on the wrong color marker -- intentionally. (You'll go through a new pack switching them up and cackling.) We even noticed that you'd swapped the kid toothpaste cap with our grown-up toothpaste cap the other day (who even would have thought they'd be compatible?). We're unclear about where this impulse comes from: your daddy, at least, didn't regularly replace the toothpaste top at all until his middle teens.

Since Christmas, your favorite hobby has been wrapping presents. You can now accomplish the entire process -- get toy from room, fold toy in paper, wrap in thirteen yards of Scotch tape, place in gift bag -- with our help only in cutting the paper to size. Once you get that down, I expect that we'll need to order wrapping paper by the case; we already use a roll as a special reward for good cooperation. Everyone needs an artistic outlet, it seems.    

In other big news, we applied to nursery school this month. Sometime by September, if all goes well, you'll be doing two half-days a week at a local co-op. We have no worries about you -- you're incredibly independent and verbal. A couple of weeks ago when we asked if you needed any help with your Play-Doh cookery, you told us, "You just concentrate on your thing. I got it." It's as if Fern the teenager traveled back in time to take over your body.

So it's been a busy month and year, full of challenges, but also loads of fun every day. You're starting your fourth year now and we couldn't be more proud of how far you've come -- or more excited to see how you handle your further adventures in big-girldom.

We love you very, very much,

Mommy & Daddy

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If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXXV

Dear Fern,

Sister.

You turn 35 months old today, ostensibly entering the last month of your terrible twos. For most of this year you haven't shown much tendency to the "terrible," though the last few weeks, we'll admit, have brought some challenges.

Not that we're surprised. After all, we've taken a rainy month, added a new baby, filled the days with fun but routine-bending visits by out-of-town relatives and, of course, suffered a seasonal end to most organized activities and play dates. Of course you get confused and cranky; heck, we do too.

And, you know, regression can be cute, within limits. It's charming when you squeeze into pants designed for a 3-month old -- that is, unless we need to get out of the house quickly, or we're going somewhere (like a chilly playground) where that kind of outfit won't work. Then you channel your inner terrible two, and though we're both pretty good at handling a Fern-tantrum, it's not very fun.

You're handling sibling envy pretty well. Claudia has been a decent plaything and you're especially excited at how much she responds to your voice these days. When she's crying or cuddling, though, you are occasionally overcome by a need to cry or cuddle immediately as well. Then again, though Claudia steals your parents' attention, she also attracts a pile of new toys into the house. (You get first playing rights, of course.) Overall, you seem to consider sisterhood a positive thing.

We succumb to that common tendency of parents to worry most about what least needs it. In the case of your third December, it turns out we needn't have been too anxious about the effects of Christmas bloat. You had four Christmas celebrations, all told, and got some pretty darn impressive presents from all corners. And you were almost always gracious and passionately excited about every gift. For a not-quite-three year old: well done.

Despite all the confusion (or maybe because of it?) you've matured quite a bit this month. We've noted before that grandparent visits seem to inspire developmental advances, so maybe that explains why you fairly suddenly shed most of your sleep issues. Most nights now, you fall asleep on your own in your bed like you used to. Daddy comes back every five minutes, but by the first or second return visit, you're asleep. About half the time, you sleep through the night, though you do still ask for midnight help on the potty from time to time. It's maybe only once a week that you have extended wakeful periods at night, which is a great comfort.

Your age acrobatics continue: a couple of days ago, you were playing with a six-year old up at the tire swing playground for something like an hour before she asked how old you are. When she found out you're only two, she told her four-year old sister that she thought you were at least five. Even adults generally guess at least a year or two above your actual age. It's hard to describe why you come across older than you are: you're tall, of course, and pretty verbal, but not like a kindergartner. Put it down to confidence, an inner font of gritty determination that's unusual in the two-year old set.

Yet you are decidedly ambivalent about being a big girl. So we keep your booster seat installed but have an old car seat around for you, too. We shop in the much-anticipated Girls section of Target, but we still stop by Toddlers every once in a while. Because while the world seems intent on thrusting you into big girlhood, it's just fine for you to hold on to "baby" from time to time. Let it go when you're ready, but no sooner, OK?

We love you very, very much,

 

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slide show. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXXIV

Dear Fern,

You turn 34 months old today. Something really big happened to you this month, but we can't quite remember what it is.

Oh, yeah, that was it.

Yes, you became a big sister this month, and if there's sibling jealousy in you then it's waiting for a different month to manifest. You've adapted to the presence of a baby admirably, mostly by becoming more flexible in your inflexible demands.

Last month, if you wanted attention and both of us were home, you'd usually pick one or the other. "Mommy, come play basketball!" would be the call, or "Daddy, I want to take a bath." Now, peppered by frequent helpful visits from friends and grandparents, your key expression has become "I want to play with one of the grownups." The implication is clear -- any grownup will do, whichever one is not changing or nursing or soothing the baby.

Sometimes you get involved in baby care yourself. Since you can pretty much reach the sink now (we'll discuss your pro-basketball future soon) you moved your bathroom stool next to the changing table and helpfully provide wipes on demand, all the while telling poor discommoded Claudia, "It's OK. It's OK."

Dolls have reaped the benefit of your sisterhood, as well: you've become incredibly attentive to their needs, diapering them and putting them down for naps. Your mom bequeathed to you her own childhood Sasha doll, and it's rare that you don't install her in the high chair at the dinner table in front of a tray of wooden vegetables, feeding her very small bites and blowing on the fork when her "food" is too hot.

You're not all about babies, of course. For one thing, you've become an unrepentant clothing kleptomaniac. First you were squeezing into your sister's baby clothes. Now it's come to the point where we're keeping little bags of clothes to be returned to your friends, since you can't go on a visit without pawing through closets and drawers for choice footie pajamas.

Friends have gained in importance, though of course we've had a hard time seeing them enough. A couple of weeks ago, we saw Erwan, your bestie from the old neighborhood, and for a while there it seemed like you might smother him with the hugging and all. We've joked in the past, the way all parents do, about "planning the wedding." Now we think you might be thinking along the same lines, as well, and no joke.

So one of the most revolutionary months of your short life, a month of changes that could have confused or annoyed or even frightened you, has instead boosted you squarely into the ranks of the confident, communicative, compassionate big girls. Well done.

We love you very, very much,

 

Mommy & Daddy

 

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXXIII

Dear Fern,

Shady.

You turn two and three quarters today, and there are two drawbacks to this milestone.

For one thing, we just taught you to say "two and two thirds" and that was kind of impressive.

Secondly and more importantly, this is your final mensiversary as an only child. Rare will be the days to come when you'll have both your parents' undivided attention. One friend, another parent of two, described the sensation as going from double-teaming to a one-on-one defense -- and it seems that you don't completely approve of the change.

Don't get me wrong: most of the time you continue to be your blissfully satisfied, cooperative self. You're also more likely these days to go off to play some game of your own invention -- by yourself. It's as if you're already preparing for how distracted we, your parents, are going to be in a few short days.

But you're also backsliding, too. No textbook regression for you: you're still pooping in the potty and dressing yourself. But if we indulge you, and sometimes even over our objections, you'll try to squeeze into some of the baby clothes we've been getting ready for your sister. You've also taken to making us feed you sometimes. Although we're loathe to do that for an almost three-year old, we know that if allowed, you will go without a bite of anything (except toothpaste, which you covet). And then you won't sleep. And then we won't sleep. So if feed you we must, then feed you we will.

Your ambivalence about sisterhood has a positive pole, too: you spend much of your time practicing baby care. One of your favorite games is "put the baby to bed" in which you arrange pillow, blankets, and stuffed animals for your current sister proxy -- the favorite doll you've oddly taken to calling "medium-sized dolly." (At least it's not "venti dolly.") So at the same time that you're looking slightly tarty in your 6-month-sized T-shirts you're also asking for a doll-sized Baby Bjorn. You make us feed you, then in the same beat turn to feed your doll or teach mommy's belly to sing "This Old Man."

It's obvious why the family enlargement confuses you: it's doing the same to us. Every symptom -- from your stubbornly regressive moments to the periods of unbridled saintliness -- is completely normal for a now two-and-three-quarter year old about to get a baby in the family. You've really enjoyed self-identifying as a "big girl" -- doing things like having entire telephone conversations and writing letters to your friends -- but you're not sure that you like the idea of losing your recourse to babyhood. Just today you rejoiced over upgrading from car seat to booster but at the same time you wanted to ride in the Ergo carrier like a baby -- something you haven't done for over a year.

Your upcoming thirty-fourth month promises to be life-changing for all of us. We know -- well, hope -- that you'll feel as we do that the titles you're losing -- "only child," "baby of the family" -- will be more than compensated for by the ones you're gaining -- "big sister," "sensible caregiver." And, the most exciting label that you'll be surely taking on in a couple of years -- that might last the rest of your life -- is, of course, "best friend."

So if you have a few moments of receding into infantile behavior for a little while -- it's not a problem. You've got a lot on your plate just now.

We love you very, very much,

 

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXXII

Dear Fern,

Communing with a baby ladybug.

You turn two and two-thirds today and as you careen toward three, you seem to be daily more intent on controlling the world around you.

It started months ago with clothes -- you've always wanted to pick your own, but more and more, your need to create an outfit that's "just so" borders on obsessive. Pink, of course, is still in vogue, although you like to mix things up, too: just today you chose dark striped tights instead of pink pants. And some days nothing but a dress will do.

Your experiments with the world are not limited to the sartorial, though: you want to actively participate in nearly every aspect of daily life. We love that about you, of course, and sometimes it's even useful, like when you help load the dryer or whisk your own eggs for breakfast.

At other times, your independence can be challenging. When you make up your mind that you will be doing something by yourself, it's nearly impossible to offer you any help. Stuck inside a sweater with a sleeve the wrong way in, you still want to get it on by yourself and reject any obvious assistance. (We're getting pretty subtle about helping hands, though; as long as you don't notice us tug or pull, you can't object.)

Your self-reliance has made you a problem solver. We've struggled for months with washing your hair -- you don't like to be reclined into the tub, we don't have a sprayer, and when we use our special hair-washing rinse cup, you won't tilt your head back. So mom asked you a few times how you'd solve the problem of needing to look up at the ceiling during rinsing. "I can look up at a duck!" was your decision, and -- since you'd come up with it yourself -- it worked! One or two rubber duckies later and your hair was clean.

Not surprisingly, you like to control us, too. Dad told you the other day about how Mommy was coming home soon and you immediately responded, "Is her hair up?" If mom's hair is down, you're sure to demand that be fixed, and the same goes for ordering dad to "Put your hat on!"

We're really proud, though, of how you're convinced that pretty much everything in the world can be brought under your control, once you learn the trick. At the zoo one day this month, two goats were friskier than usual in their attempts to steal every bit of kibble we'd bought. The two started butting at each other fairly violently, like something out of a nature video. Adults were running off, but you grabbed one by the neck and whispered something (probably a threat) into its ear. Over and over, you pushed the brawling goats aside and insisted that they play nice. And amazingly they did, and what's most impressive, they stopped treating you like a lunch ticket and instead showed you the same deference a farm hand would deserve.

If you can master zoo goats, we guess you can accomplish just about anything. At least, that's what you seem to think, and if this month is any guide, you're probably right.

We love you very, very much,

 

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXXI

Dear Fern,

"Thank you for a nice day, daddy."

Sweet girls.

Today, the day you turn 31 months old, that's what you said in lieu of "Good night." Mommy and daddy looked incredulously at one another. We didn't tell you to say that -- we've never told you to say anything remotely like that. Earlier in the day, unprompted, you came out with "Thank you for dinner, mommy!" It warmed our hearts, it was a nice sentiment, but where did you learn it?

The answer is obvious, of course: you heard someone use the expression, you understood and liked it, so you adopted it as your own. But not so long ago at least one of your parents was present and usually responsible for every one of your "learning moments." Now, it seems, you're teaching yourself.

The other day you wanted to show off your sunglasses to your cousin. You just whipped them out, unfolded the earpieces, and put them on in the fluid gesture of an L.A. driver. A few months ago trying the same action you would have nearly punctured an eardrum or else ended up with the glasses upside down. But we never taught you the skill -- we couldn't say for sure that you learned it this month, even. But you learned it, and you learned it somewhere on your own.

Have you been practicing these things during nap time?

You count now -- not just numbers, which you've done in a rote way for a long time, but you now enumerate things with numbers. You climb up on the big toilet and take care of business alone -- usually with the door closed, "for privacy," as you say. And you learned to turn the deadbolt and let yourself out of the house, a skill we'd just as soon you'd left for a couple more years.

You're learning to be a compassionate little thing, too. We get lots of spontaneous and apparently heartfelt thank yous, hugs, kisses, and knuckle bumps. You like nothing more than to care for babies by putting your face directly into theirs and saying "It's OK, little buddy." Apparently, you think that infant care is a Gilligan's Island rerun, but oddly, it seems to work: babies love you.

Stuffed and imaginary pals aren't forgotten, either. You spent a few memorable nights with your mom making beds for a monkey and a frog out of a fruit roll-up box and bits of felt using rolled adhesive tape for the pillows, and you're ever holding Joey's hand when we cross the street, the better to keep her invisible little self safe from cars.

There are still challenges, of course. Your nighttime sleep is still fantastic, but naps can be a struggle. You are sometimes bossy with kids your own age and slightly older (like your parents). But those rough edges only appear when you're sleepy or hungry -- on whole, you're a charming, personable little kid, and every day you master new skills and words and grownup emotions, whether we see how you're doing it or not -- usually not.

Well done.

We love you very, very much,

 

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXX

Dear Fern,

 
Big. Girl. Bed.

You are two and a half years old today. Happy Half Birthday!

After weeks -- months -- of struggling with you to fall asleep alone, we finally discovered the solution: bribes.

Well, OK, let's call them "rewards." You've got a rewards chart -- every day you put yourself to sleep, you get a sticker on it, and three days of stickers mean a prize picked from a bag of covet-worthy treats: nail polish, paint sets, Swiss army knives -- heck, we were desperate enough to put anything in that bag.

What's funny, though, is that once mom set up the chart and the prize bag, it took you maybe two days to become a champion self-sleeper: you caught right on. The crucial breakthrough was comprehension: if we explain what we need from you, you get it. And, if the reward is great enough, you even want it.

Potty training took an imperceptibly short time once we established the one-jelly-bean-per-successful-pee rule. Nearly constant diapers and the potty chair as a novelty is so last week: now it's diapers-only-while-sleeping and we're looking into getting one of those workplace "Days Without An Accident" signs.

Of all the rewards, the grand prize of them all, the trophy that really turned your sleeping around was this:

The Big Girl Bed.

Yes, the very idea of a twin bed that was all your own -- a bed you could get in and out of at will, a bed that you could pile high with your stuffed animals and books -- that drove you to change your sleeping habits nearly instantly. For a few days, you would cry when left in bed, but for no more than five minutes or so. (By comparison, when we tried to do this in April, you screamed for 20 minutes and seemed ready to keep it up for hours except that we, your pathetic parents, couldn't take it.)

You told your friends, your relations, even your acrobatics teacher about your big girl bed; soon you'd repeated the phrase so incessantly that it came out more like "BIGurlbbed." You wanted to look through every furniture catalog that came to the house to pick out just the right one. And, night after night, you put yourself to sleep with little or no complaint.

And finally, yesterday, the Ikea man came by so that you could spend the night before your half birthday, for the first time, in your big girl bed. And you fell asleep on your own, and slept through the night. (To be perfectly honest, you did wake up an hour earlier than normal when you managed to squeeze past the safety bar and fell on the floor, but that's to be expected once or twice, right?)

In just a couple of weeks you turned sleeping from one of your hugest challenges to an enormous success. Sure, the reward had something to do with it, but we tell ourselves firstly, "So what?", and secondly, that you accomplished something hard by deciding you really wanted it -- and that's something for you (and us) to be proud of.

Nice job. We love you very, very much,

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXIX

Dear Fern,

Fern, getting ready to say something really goofy.

You're 29 months old today. In our family, five-twelfths-birthdays are a time of reflection, even more than half birthdays or the lunar new year. Thus, we decided this month to simply jot down everything fascinating and bizarre you say. Sadly, you say incredible stuff about thirty times a day, so we were desperately understaffed for the task. Suffice it to call these few quotes your highlight reel. (Or, in some cases, your bloopers...)

It's a parenting truism is that the astounding things that kids say get flattened in the retelling, so we'll report these with little exposition and rely on your imagination to fill in the flavor of your monologues, conversations and general observations on various subjects. To wit:

On health:

June 17th:

"Bird seed is the best medicine."

I'm not sure if it clarifies anything that "bird seed" is your term for cashews or peanuts.

On technology:

June 20th, on a fake cell phone:

"Papa? Papa? Where are you? Here, I'll put you on speakerphone."

On matters veterinary (and exculpatory):

June 7th, after chasing our cat out of your room and receiving a mild rebuke:

"I kicked Carson to make her feel better. Maybe she likes to be kicked!"

On your role in the universe:

June 20th, speaking to the refrigerator door after having just pulled out a yogurt:

"I'm going to hold you to keep you stable."

On seasoning:

June 21st, after playing in the backyard with the neighbor kids:

"Mommy, I ate some rosemary in the backyard. It's totally edible!"

On San Francisco:

June 21st, some little time later, out of the blue:

"I love our neighborhood!"

On hygiene:

June 17th:

"You can kiss me if you wipe it off."

On laundry:

June 23rd, while "helping" fold clean clothes:

"I'm a pile of underwear!"

On exceptions:

June 10th, after hitting mom and getting a stern talking-to, in a bewildered voice:

"But we can hit butt cracks!"

On food:

June 23rd, finding a leaf on the kitchen floor and showing it to dad:

"Can I suck on this?"

On implications:

June 22nd, getting ready to go:

Mom: "Do you remember what we're doing this morning? We're going to Deb & Erica's baby shower."

Fern: "Are we washing the baby's hair?"

On neonatal care:

June 25th:

"Don't touch my nose right now, because I've got a baby!"

On nature:

June 26th, swinging at the playground:

"I smell the wind."

On gifts:

July 1st, using the pretend cell phone attached to the kitchen from Grandma Ocean:

"Hey, papa! Thanks for taking pictures! Do you got a kitchen? I don't remember. Do you got a kitchen?"

On dumb jokes:

You learned a dumb joke from an Elmo doll ("Why shouldn't a pizza tell jokes? Because they're really cheesy!"). One morning, mom was making cheesy eggs, so dad gave you the prompt -- "Why shouldn't a pizza..." -- and you impishly answered,

"Because they're really eggy!"

On fashion (or a legal career):

June 25th, getting dressed in the morning:

Fern: "I want to wear my flower pants."

Dad: "Oh, they're a little bit dirty, though."

Fern: "Oh, but they're a little bit clean, though."

On love:

June 25th, as you were falling asleep:

Mom: "I love you very, very much."

Fern: "I love Darryl very much. I really really love Darryl. I love Darryl. I love Darryl very very much. Darryl's my driver."

Darryl is one of the drivers on the bus line that takes you down to your favorite playground.

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I know you'll believe that these are all real quotations, direct from your funny little brain, because I suspect that we couldn't invent anything nearly as interesting. Making them up couldn't possibly be half as fun as listening to you come up with them yourself, anyway: these days, every conversation we have with you means a trip through your oddball imagination.

It's tons of fun: more so every day.

We love you very, very much,

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXVIII

Dear Fern,

Fern shows Joey how to handle a goat.

You're two and a third today, which is one-third of the way to seven, though sometimes it feels like you're already there. This installment of our monthly letter to your future self will be about one of your best friends, lest you forget about her in the years between now and whenever you're reading this.

Her name is Joey. When we describe her to our adult friends, we call her "imaginary," but that's just shorthand for "so real that you can't quite see her." Joey appeared (so to speak) just before we found out that you're going to have a baby brother or sister, so it's possible that she's your stand-in sibling during the long wait for the real one. Your mom's childhood invisible friend was a scapegoat she used to explain her own misdeeds to herself, but you don't seem to blame anything on Joey -- she simply comes along for the ride, the game, or the story.

Joey is your all-but-constant companion. She's had dinner with us and she frequently rides in the car. You push her in the playground swings and she was at the zoo the other day. (Sadly, she's afraid of goats. But you showed her that they're safe.) She's the perfect companion in that she can go off and play by herself when you're engrossed in activity, but when you're lonely or bored, she'll trot back over in her imaginary way and enliven the day.

You like to introduce Joey to your family. We've had two sets of grandparents visit this month, so you got several chances to describe her. The first time Joey's hair came up, it was pink. (Later in the month it turned "dark" -- your word for black, we think -- so she's either going natural or goth.) It's really neat that you introduce Joey to your grandpeople and other relations as it underscores your connection to all of them -- separately, as individual people that you can tell apart and appreciate for their differences. Even your out-of-town uncles, aunts, and cousins feature regularly in your life, thanks partly at least to regular Skype sessions. There seems to be a part of your mind reserved for family: you'll ask to call a certain grandpa or pretend to visit a particular grandma at least a couple of times a day.

Our first misunderstanding about Joey came from the name: your dad understandably asked you about "him." You quickly corrected Joey's gender: she's a she, the name notwithstanding, which begs the question of how you figured out that Joey could even be a girl's name. (Short for Josephine, presumably?) Did you see it on a Sesame Street podcast? Did we read you a book with a Joey heroine and forget about it? Are you studying the French revolution when we're not looking? We have no idea.

Joey was around your age once, then she was a little older, and just today she was 8 -- as ever, you tend to play with older kids. On the other hand, this month you've started to see younger babies in a novel way, perhaps best summed up as "animate playthings." You like to help them walk, push them on swings, and the other day you told a five-month old to cover her mouth when she sneezes. You've loved dolls for a while now, but where once they were more independent friends (like your Frida doll), now your Dolly relies on you to carry her across the street, give her a bottle, and tuck her in at night. You’re becoming a big sister, and big-sisterhood becomes you.

They say that imaginary friends are projections of a child's own personality. You have such an immense personality that it's completely plausible that it would erupt out of your head as Joey the Wonder Girl. Wherever she comes from, it's always a merry day when Joey appears. (Of course, with you around, every day is already fun anyway!)

We love you very, very much,

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXVII

Dear Fern,

Fern and Erwan, expecting

Now you are 2 and a quarter. It seems that you look around daily and say, "Hey, check out all these people!" More and more often, when we take you to the playground or on an outing or when a visitor comes calling, you'll leave us behind and run off with playmates of your own choosing.

This month, you had what we're calling your "first conversation." You'd been following a trio of four-year old girls around the playground. You love four-year old girls, although (or perhaps because) they treat you a little like a pet, their most compliant friend. Paige, one of the girls, pulled you aside to invite you to a cookie party for her Cinderella doll over at the bench. You, Paige, and Cinderella sat there enjoying Fig Newtons, lost in chat about various important topics. Paige showed you a ballet step that you tried to copy. Best of all, no parents were present, encouraging you the way we sometimes do to "Show little Paige the way you like to dance!" No, you undertook the entire interaction all on your own, with us just eavesdropping.

It's not just girls who interest you, of course. You got to spend a few days with Erwan this month during his school's spring break, and you two are still best of friends. (One day, you practiced being pregnant together. You're having a duck, and Erwan's expecting a panda.) And you like younger kids, too. When we got to brunch and hike with our friends Kelley and Phil and nearly one-year old Elias a couple of weeks ago, you wanted to show the baby everything you know about being a big kid: your room, your toys, and your music.

And then there was Joey. It occurred to you a couple of weeks ago that people in your life don't have to be manifest, so you started talking about friends that your mom and dad had never met, and, in fact, don't exist in any physical form. Joey was the most common imaginary visitor, and boy oh boy is she a scream. Joey dresses really well, favoring flower shirts and hair bands -- just like you! She likes to eat breakfast with you, but frequently goads you into jumping up and playing before mealtime is through. And, best of all, Joey likes to take you on those long airplane trips to visit your grandparents.

Even characters in books deserve your attention. In a photo from one of your favorites (Sea Lion Roars, of course), a baby sea lion appears to be crying. Reading the book with your mom last week, you handed your bottle over to the book and said, "There you go, little buddy!" The sea lion didn't visibly react, but he was surely grateful. You do similar things for your dolly, with whom you have regular conversations when more animated company isn't available.

So you're well on your way to compassion, a journey we witness almost every day through your fascination with other people and creatures. It's inspiring to behold, really: empathy in its rawest infancy.

Keep it up! We love you very, very much,

 

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXVI

Dear Fern,

Listening for an easter egg

You're twenty-six months old today. Thirteen-sixths of a year!

We still call you "baby" sometimes, but every day that nickname is less accurate. Your attitudes, your interests, and your capabilities are quickly becoming those of a little girl. The real line to kidhood was crossed when you widened your eyes to perceive the greater world around you -- no, not just your eyes; you're tuning every sense you've got to your surroundings. So for this month's retrospective, let's go on a tour of your senses and how they've expanded of late.

Taste. You've got a New Yorker's palate: you love pastrami, grilled onions, and pickles, not to mention mushrooms and gourmet olives. Clearly, you inherited this eclecticism from your mother, who also loved a good ethnic nosh as a toddler, and not your father, who wouldn't even touch a mushroom until his 20s. Which isn't to say that you're a fantastic eater; some days you won't eat much more than a few Goldfish no matter how hard we try, but then the next day you'll wolf down an entire slice of pizza. Or four.

Touch. One of your favorite backyard activities is burying your feet in the birdseed bucket. (Let this serve as a reminder to all of you not to eat our birdseed.) Interestingly, after you've done that, you obsessively remove every grain of millet from between your toes. You also insist on stripping off all your clothes should three drops of water sully your sleeve, although that may just mean that you like being naked.

Hearing. "What's that noise?" comes up so often that we as parents find ourselves listening to our surroundings a lot more, too. You'll point out a distant lawnmower, or the sound of a hammer next door, or odd new bird sounds. (We're jealous of the fact that you can already tell a chickadee from a hummingbird by their songs.) Music, as always, is one of your greatest joys. Listening to the Nutcracker Suite a couple of weeks ago, you said, completely unprompted, "I hear butterflies singing." Oddly, you repeated the comment when Ray Charles played "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," which I guess shows you've got some good taste in music, too.

Sight. You're always looking around these days. When we are driving in an unfamiliar place, you ask "What's happening here?" or "Where are we?" You also want to know who lives in every house we pass. More than ever, you're sensitive to things that you see that have changed: if a doll is not where you left it, you'll notice. Your eyes are sharp, too: you can point out the last tiny ripe blackberry on the vine or the cat in a distant window down the street.

Smell. Spring means heaps of blooming flowers in the neighborhood. Smelling flowers is a favorite pastime, although one of them turned on you a couple of weeks ago. That's when you discovered a marigold: when you sniffed it, you recoiled from the stink almost like you were personally offended. Ever since then, you've been checking out different flowers somewhat… suspiciously. Still, you'll go out of your way to smell a rosemary bush (and taste it too, more often than not).

You're developing other senses, too: your sense of humor has been bolstered recently by the riddles printed on your string cheese wrappers that you love to repeat, although you sometimes mix up the punch lines. ("What kind of room has no windows and no doors? A necklace!") And your sense of mischief is ever-present and ever-growing: at the playground the other day, you purloined your friend's hat and hid it in the merry-go-round, and you're forever sneaking into the closet so we'll hunt for you. (Just now, writing this, daddy found a change-of-address sticker on his back. I wonder how that got there?) And, as we've written before, your sense of style is emphatic and pronounced. You've got firm ideas about what goes together in an outfit -- stripes, flowers, and butterflies are big at the moment.

The changes are coming blisteringly fast now, although amazingly, you're still that same big baby we met in person over two years ago -- that, and yet so much more that it's hard to put every transformation into words.

We love you very, very much,

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXV

Dear Fern,

Playing "chase around the pillar" with Emmeline

Twenty-five months! That's a quarter of a hectamonth old! One thing that stands out this month is how you've worked on your relationship skills. You've always enjoyed other kids, but when it came to serious "play" you once typically looked to an adult, or else played by yourself.

Lately, though, you've done a great job inventing games with playmates. You don't need much adult encouragement to engage another kid in playing (or hugging or singing). Around mid-month, you met a 4-year old girl at an unfamiliar playground, and before long the two of you were happily spinning on the merry-go-round. You'd somehow gotten her to sing "Ring Around the Rosey" with you and she was playing with your hair bows. She had to leave soon after, but before she was whisked off for her nap, she asked daddy, "Can she be my friend?" To be honest, you looked nonplussed, but at least you nodded in a sort of accommodating way as she hugged you.

Your joint-play repertoire has also grown. Thanks to Erwan, you've enjoyed a good game of crash for months, but now you also like walking hand-in-hand, climbing, see-sawing, chasing, and, of course, dancing with other kids. At a sandbox equipped with a fountain, you and two older boys started a busy car wash business, first rinsing off all the toy tractors and shovels and then getting them sandy again. (You were best at the second part.)

You also reached a huge milestone by weaning this month. It was sudden, forced on you by mommy's appendectomy, and you've done pretty well. Although you don't ask to nurse any more, you haven't been sleeping quite as well, and it seems that you are feeling the loss. On the upside, you've become a lot more willing to hug and snuggle -- something you didn't used to put up with for too long.

So, all in all, another great month, the first of your third year. Spring is here and the weather is gorgeous in San Francisco (when we left the house today you commented "It's a beautiful day!"). We're looking forward to many outdoor adventures with you in the month to come!

We love you very, very much,

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. Sorry there are so many pictures -- we couldn't decide! If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern, part XXIV

Dear Fern,

Our proud 2-year old

Today you are two!

If the "terrible twos" are starting, we haven't had much sign of it yet. Sure, you're a little stubborn about sitting at the dinner table if there's something more interesting to do, but for the most part you are engaged, excited, and filled with just as much zest for life as you always have been.

We could probably write pages filled with stories about what you're "into" as you turn two, but to make things easier, we'll just jot down a list of your five favorite things in life.

Fern's Top Five Thrills At Two

1. People. You are devoted to members of your family, even those you don't get to see very often. Some days you'll randomly pipe up with the name of a grandparent or cousin or uncle or aunt, run over to your photo album, and show us the picture of the chosen relation. You love talking to your far-off relatives on the phone (and the computer!) and you enjoy their visits even more. More and more, you seem to like to orchestrate these connections -- "you sit here," "grandma play dolls," "call uncle," that sort of thing.
   
   You're quite fond of your friends, too, not to mention their parents. A couple of months ago, you started requesting playdates, and now not a day goes by but that you inquire after the whereabouts of Erwan, Emmeline, Emma, or Galicia.
   
   
2. Animals. A couple of days ago, you found two crickets under a paving stone. Crickets are hard to hold and easy to hurt, but you picked them up ever-so-gently and cupped them in your hands so you could peer at their funny "eyes" (which is what you call antennae). Then, and this makes us really proud, you put them right back where you found them -- "home," as you said. Scale is no matter to you: you gently stroke our cat Carson, but you can also push around the ornery petting zoo goats like a dyed-in-the-wool farmgirl.
   
   
3. Pretending. Every day, you discover ways that your newfound "pretending" skill can serve you. You're an old hand at tea parties, and you still travel by the "airplane" behind the armchair. You've added to your repertoire, though: you drive, cook, eat, and dig in your pretend world. You can be a butterfly, a worm, or a lion. You've probably changed as many diapers as we have, but your diaper changes are a lot more interesting: you've swathed a duck, Elmo, and, of course, Frida Kahlo. You're especially fond of pretend presents: gift bags you fill with various toys (or imaginary treats) and then give to us, or just open yourself. You also pretend to swim in the bathtub, although you've only been in a pool once.
   
   
4. Music. You've come to prefer songs with a "fill-in" component, something that can change each time you sing them. Just yesterday you were singing to "Mary Wore a Red Dress," but you substituted "Fern" for "Mary" and various parts of your outfit for the dress: "Fern wore new shoes!" and "Fern wore orange tights!" A couple of days ago you also sang about how "Frida wore her red dress." (You love that doll!)
   
   Lyrics. Rhythm. Humming. Experimenting with instruments. You love it all. Every morning when you come downstairs, or when we get into the the car, you request the kind of music you want that day. Sometimes you really want to hear your Music Together songs, or the addictive Boynton albums you got for Christmas. For that matter, you're still asking for Christmas music long after the season ended. And nothing delights you more than when you know the words to a song.
   
   
5. Dancing and Moving. Few things make you more ecstatically enthusiastic than dancing. You've got favorite music, of course, but you don't really need any music to dance; a little clapping is plenty of impetus for you to get on your feet. You saw a Sesame Street video about ballet and now you love to twirl and tiptoe and pretend you're flying around like a butterfly. You're a wonder in your acrobatics class, swinging giddily from a trapeze and bouncing on a trampoline. And it's no secret that any adult willing to swing you around wins major points -- as long as they'll do it "again!" and "again!" and "again!", that is.

We could go on … you love to wash dishes, you love to fix things with screwdrivers and tape, you positively lust after any water voluminous enough to splash. But for now, we'll just leave it here: you are growing and learning so much every day that we'd hardly be able to write it all down.

We love you very, very much,

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures below, click this link.

Dear Fern (Part XXIII)

Dear Fern,

As usual for this time of year (and isn't it amazing that you are starting to have "usual" things!), you've been traveling a lot. It's exciting to see how connected you are to your far-flung family -- you're really starting to seek out relationships with your grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. At least once or twice a week, you'll ask, unprompted, that we call (or Skype!) a specific relation. You've video-chatted more in the last month than we ever had before and are mastering the cross-country rendition of "Itsy Bitsy Spider."

You in the garden of your new house

Your pretending continues apace. You invented a game with mommy last night where you gathered a "suitcase," kissed every living and stuffed inhabitant of the living room with a "bye-bye," and then crawled behind the armchair to be on your "airplane." Then you would arrive and repeat the process, over and over.

The gap behind the armchair has become a favorite pretending spot. It can be your "house" or "airplane," or just a cozy hideout -- or a hundred other things to come, probably.

Even after just a few weeks, you are thriving in the new house. You love the garden where we've found bugs and worms, dig holes, and picked flowers and even a couple of January blackberries. (Imagine that, you Midwestern relations!) You're also sleeping through the night pretty consistently, and although that started before the move, the new place seems to be contributing. It's certainly quieter up here on our little street, and the air is probably cleaner, too.

We've talked about the language thing before, but your vocabulary becomes more and more uncanny. At least a few times a week you come out with a new word -- often in a long sentence -- and we just don't know where the heck you got it. Of course, you've got favorite words, too. "Boys" comes to mind (also one of your mom's faves at that age, interestingly), and now "marching" (from your new favorite song), "pretty dress," "bless you mommy," and "there ya go daddy."

And soon -- in just a month -- you will be two years old. Enjoy this last month of your oneness! We know we will.

We love you very, very much,

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures down there, click this link.

Baby with a cellphone

Fern has figured out how to take a picture with Graham's phone, turn it around, and squeal at the results. Her latest photoessay follows.

Dear Fern (Part XXII)

Dear Fern,

New adjectives flooded into your vocabulary this month. You asked for the first time to wear a "pretty dress," and you describe things with words we're sure we never taught you on purpose: "fuzzy," "heavy," "cozy," "chilly," and countless others. Whenever you hit on an invented phrase that makes sense, you get really excited. "Cheese sandwich bacon" came to you one day: you know about cheese, you know about sandwiches, you love bacon, so putting them together gives you the ideal food!

Sentences are also interesting you. "I-want" is an easy construction, but you're also trying out some more complicated turns of phrase, like "I-no-like-it" and "Push-you-on-belly-swing." The record long sentence so far is "Let-me-I-want-touch-water-please." You tell jokes, too, usually about farting.

 
You picked the outfit yourself!

We're not sure when, exactly, but you have started to "pretend." It began with flying like a bird by flapping your arms -- that may be from your music class -- and has progressed to full-blown tea parties with tiny Play-Doh cups, saucers, and petit fours.

As always, you're really active, quite the dancer. The guitar player who sits and entertains outside our playground didn't used to excite you all that much, but now as long as he's playing something with a beat you're happy. And your acrobatics are progressing apace -- you can hardly see a horizontal bar without wanting to hang from it.

Group activities are starting to interest you more and more. The other day, you led a gaggle of toddlers in a mad game of Ring-Around-The-Rosey that left your dad with torn jeans and bruises. And you like leading: you love to encourage other kids to follow you places, although you usually move on once they're there. (You're a little disappointed, we think, if they don't show up!) The pursuit, it seems, is more important than the destination.

You still love bugs and worms, but lately you've insisted on showing all your discoveries to other people. Your preference is "kids" -- you must think that adults don't need to see another caterpillar -- and especially older boys. Maybe we're projecting, but we think you're proud that you can gently hold (and pet and caress and kiss) a worm that even the big, weapon-wielding boys are a little leery of.

We're moving this month -- today, in fact -- to a neighborhood closer to hiking trails and into a house with a backyard, but a bit farther away from the friends you've made down here. The loss of that community is sad, in a way, but we'll hold on to many of the friends we've made here, and we see a lot of good coming out of the challenge to take on a new playground and make new friends. Given how engaged, how verbal, how active you've been this month, we can only assume that you'll be hit the new neighborhood like a freight train!

We love you very, very much,

 

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures down there, click this link.

Dear Fern (part XXI)

Dear Fern,

Stomping Puddles

You turn 21 months old today, and like anyone turning 21, you are torn between two of life's great stages. Sometimes you'll eat an entire bowl of cereal with a spoon and cut up food with the side of a fork, and the same day you'll ask for your string cheese to be broken into pieces for you. You can count to twenty on a good day, but if you're not in the mood we can't entice you even to say "two."

So -- baby or little girl? You be the judge.

Last week, you were playing catch with your mom, rolling a ball back and forth across the floor. The next day, you grabbed her hand and told her to "Sit!" Then you went and got the ball, sat down across from her, and resumed your game. Sounds like little girl to me!

Three seems to be your favorite age in a playmate. If you find a willing kid in the three- to four-year old set, you'll disappear with her to collect rocks, dance ring-around-the-rosey, or draw with sidewalk chalk. You prefer that us parents keep our distance when you sequester one of these older buddies, so you'll run off with your buddy where you think we can't see you. Then again, if you're playing with someone your own age, you seem to like a parent or two around to perform our necessary swing-pushing or bug-finding roles.

You're still full of baby joy, too: a good tickle-fest or tumble can make your day, and you love to cuddle. On the other hand, you seem to be developing a fakey posed smile that you whip out whenever we say "cheese" with camera in hand.

Winter seems to be bringing out the little girl in you, too. On our first rainy day, you insisted that we go get you rain boots and a jacket and, after months of hearing about it from your friends, you finally stomped in a puddle for the first time.

Words keep coming, and you're starting to put them together into sentences. Some of your new phrases we'd sort of rather you didn't shout about, too -- it's great that you correctly identify "Arf-Arf Poop," but do you have to do it so often? Deep down, I think you know you're being a little mischievous.

Maybe baby, maybe little girl. A lot of both, probably, and we're hardly the ones to say. We'll just close with this exhortation, and it's probably not the last time you'll hear this: we sure hope you don't rush to grow up. Getting older is empowering, but being a baby is pretty fun, too!

We love you very, very much,

 

Mommy & Daddy

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Here's this month's slideshow. If you can't see the pictures down there, click this link.

Breakfast with the Family

We made Fern a calendar (her first Day Planner!) with little stickers letting her know who she's seeing and what she's doing each week. She seems to like it, but especially the stickers part. Today, for example, she wanted to have breakfast with the entire family and quite a few friends.

Guests For Breakfast

(Ken, Jewel, Ali, Luke, Mark, and quite a few more of you are hidden only because you're on a sleeve or right on the high chair. Trust me, you're all there!)