Kate: Month Forty

Kate,

Last week when I realized I was obnoxiously late writing your monthly letter, I committed to not writing a new blog posts until it was finished. That is precisely why it has been a whole week since I’ve been able to post something here. Please note for future reference that your mother may be horrible at deadlines and allotting free time, but she holds true to her word. It’s the little things, right? Technically tonight I should be doing homework for Statistics, but I’ve been heckled via text and email for taking a blogging break that has apparently spanned eternity. I’ve decided to temporarily break from the joys of summation notation and complete this post. Don’t think I won’t blame you and the blog world when I get a B on this Stats test. I think it is what all good mothers would do, right?

Thankfully this month you’ve kept your tantrums to a minimum. I’ll certainly take the credit for utilizing my astute parenting skills to accomplish that task. It could be attributed to the fact that you’ve moved on to new ways to RULE THE WORLD and MAKE ME DRINK, but it’s my blog and I am sure we are all in agreement that it was my keen management of the tantrum-istis that sent it packing. That certainly doesn’t mean that this past month has been all gum drops and roses. Oh no, that would make life much too boring, wouldn’t it?



See, this month you developed something that we like to call PSYCHOTIC BUG COMPULSIVE DISORDER. While I know kids often have fears, this caught me incredibly off guard. Up until this point, you’ve been the opposite of fearful. So much so that I’ve panicked over just how much trouble you could get in, as it wasn’t your nature to be concerned about anything. When you suddenly erupted into shrieks that belied reality, I was sure that you must have severed an appendage. You screamed, convulsed, and sobbed with such conviction that I was frantically searching your body for a bloody wound. An eternity later, when you calmed down enough to talk, I surprisingly learned that you hadn’t been maimed, wounded, or injured. You had just seen a bug. It is sort of hard to comprehend how a bug sighting could evoke more reaction than when your forehead made contact with the corner of our Corian countertop, or when I dislocated your elbow when you were not quite two. Amazing, but true. Unfortunately this phenomenon has continued on through the month, seeming to intensify with each potentially life-threatening bug sighting. Your compulsion crossed a line when you vehemently insisted that I prohibit bugs from landing on the outside of our windows. I know you have unwavering faith in my superhuman mommy powers, but I was unable to persuade you that I wasn’t capable of executing such a request. It’s been one of the only times I’ve seriously contemplated using the statement, “You want to cry? I’ll give you something to cry about!” Of course, I didn’t, but it sort of made sense it that moment. In retrospect, I could have been much more concise with this monthly update. It could have consisted of: BUGS. YOU SCREAMED. YOU CRIED. I GAINED INHERENT RESPONSIBILITY FOR EXTINCTION OF THE SPECIES. The end.



This past month you’ve also adopted some incredibly interesting phrases. While we are protective of exposing you to improper language, we aren’t overly obsessive about the truly non-offensive stuff. I’ve wrote before about your uncanny ability to discern any borderline comment and immediately tuck it away for future reference to use at very inopportune times. This month is no exception, as we’ve added two lovely phrases to your growing repertoire. First is your endearing obsession with referring to your butt crack. I am not sure which of us are to blame for referring to your visible “butt crack” one day, but you immediately added it into your vocabulary. You routinely check your butt crack, adjust your pants to cover your butt crack and proudly declare, “Oops, my butt crack is showing!” This is stated in a surprised, I-must-make-the-world-aware-of-this-way. So, you do butt-crack humor with all the sincerely and grace in the world. Which, I guess is the really the best way to do it, right? I'm hoping that you forget it prior to Sunday school next week though.



Your second obsession can be directly attributed to your father. This is your declaration of “stinking up the bathroom”, which contains an amount of pride that ordinarily would be reserved for matters of great significance. You not only possess the need to inform everyone that you are “stinking up the bathroom”, but you muster such enthusiasm that one can’t help but wonder if you really are part male. Your father of course finds the entire act quite comedic and often encourages your behavior on a regular basis. A few weeks ago, we were eating lunch at Lone Star when you suddenly had to go to the bathroom. Since I had taken you last, you quickly looked at your dad and said, “your turn”, which he didn’t find nearly as humorous as I did. As he was getting up to walk with you to the bathroom, you raised your voice multiple decibels and said, “Daddy, I am going to STINK UP their bathroom!” I could see the terror in his eyes and I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I enjoyed the entire process. You reissued your intent every few steps, with him scurrying to get to the bathroom as quickly as possible. I call that retribution for encouragement of the bathroom humor.



So, there you are Miss Kate, another month down. I enjoy these letters to you so much because it is truly remarkable to reflect on how much you really do change month by month. While I often joke about our escapades, I find that I enjoy each stage and each month with you even more than the last. You are really starting to grow into a BIG GIRL as you so often remind me, and I am so excited to share this journey with you.

Hugs, kisses, and all the love in the world,

Mama