March 21, 2012 · 5:34 pm

WHAT?!

Toddlers don’t make a whole lot of sense.

This is a conversation I had with Riley a few days ago in the garage while I desperately attempted to get him buckled in his car seat so I could drive him and his brother to school on time.  Our preschool has a twenty-minute drop-off window in the morning.  They are smart people who know what’s happening in garages all over town each morning.

Me: Riley, get in the car.

Riley: No.

Me: Riley we’re going to be late for school.

Riley: But I have to tell you something.

Me: Tell me in the car.

Riley: No.

Me: Fine.  I’ll buckle Dylan and then you’re next.

Me (after getting Dylan situated, five-year-olds are easier to get in the car than three-year-olds are…most of the time): Are you ready to get in the car?

Riley: Not yet.

Me: Riley!  We’re going to be late.  Come on.

Riley: But I have to tell you something.

Me: Fine.  Tell me.

Riley: Well… (long pause)

Me: Riley, if you get in the car now, I’ll let you have milk in the car.

Riley: Not yet.

Me:  Okay.  Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?

Riley (with a big, mischievous smile):  The hard way.

Editor’s Note: The hard way would’ve required me to physically move Riley from the spot where his squishy legs were firmly planted to the floor to the car seat where I would’ve had to (1) wrestle his tushie into the actual car seat, (2) hold him down with brute force and (3) employ ninja techniques to secure the five point harness without losing ground.   With both of my hands busy doing “hard way” things, my body, and in particular my head, would’ve been vulnerable to toddler attack, and I would most likely have gotten slapped in the face by a rogue squishy hand somewhere along the way.  The Runaway Mama doesn’t like having to do things the hard way.

Me: Riley, I’m counting to five.  One.  Two.  Three.

Riley: Well… (long pause)

Me:  Four.

Riley: Well… (long pause)

Me (in a sweat): Five.  Okay, now you’re making me do this the hard way.

Riley:  No!  Wait!  I have to tell you something!

Me: WHAT?!

Riley: The truck stops at the short cut.

Me:  The truck stops at the short cut.  That’s what you wanted to tell me?

Riley: Yes.

Me: Thank you for telling me.  Now get your butt in the car.

Riley: Okay.

See, toddlers don’t make a whole lot of sense.

1 Comment

Filed under conversations to remember, toddlers

March 20, 2012 · 4:56 pm

Dear Riley

Dear Riley,

On this 20th day of March, 2012, the first day of spring and your third birthday, I want to say thank you. 

When your older brother was born, he proved that motherhood was possible. After the obstacles I faced to hold his warm little body in my arms, his appearance felt nothing short of miraculous (as if birth is anything but miraculous).  When you were born, my firecracker, you proved that anything is possible.   Every day I’ve had the great fortune of being your Mama has shown me that love is limitless, motherhood is life’s greatest lesson, and family is everything.

You’ve made me capable of super human tasks, like breastfeeding with one arm and flipping grilled cheese sandwiches with the other.  You’ve rendered me speechless with your sweet gestures of love and friendship toward your big brother.  As my second child, you’ve given me the gift of confidence as a mother, and together with your brother, you’ve given me a greater sense of purpose – as a mother and writer.

Your older brother may do things first, but when it’s your turn, you’re fearless. You run toward adventure and leap into new experiences.  There’s fire in your eyes, and I can’t wait to see what you accomplish as you skip through your beautiful life. (Please don’t ever stop skipping!)  Eventually, my cuddle monkey, you’ll have your own firsts, and when you do, you’ll make me dizzy with pride (and anxiety) and leave me breathless in awe.

You, my little chatterbox, completed me.  Before your arrival, I didn’t yet know your bright blue eyes, infectious giggle, and wide toothy smile, but when I closed my eyes, I could feel the space where you belonged.  And now, here you are.  Thank you for calling me a cute little mommy yesterday morning and for saying, “I so don’t like this,” when I pulled your cold, wet body out of the bath last night.    Thank you for being you.  You bring endless joy and laughter to my life. 

Today, you’re three, but when you finally close your eyes at the end of the day, the expression on your sleeping face will be the same as when I held your warm little body in my arms for the first miraculous time.  

I love you all the way to Costco and back.  (For some reason, this is your favorite place on the planet.)

Happy Birthday.

Love,

Mommy

Leave a comment

Filed under birthday, motherhood