Dear Peep, I know it is weird but I really love spying on you. I love lookin' in on you when you're playing your own games, vrooom vrooming your cars, and singing your own epic opera for nobody but you. You can carry on for quite sometime before acknowledging that I'm there. It is in those little moments when pure "kid" is happening and you're being your own person. The kind of moments adult long for in their own lives but can never quite reach that level of blissful play after the age of 13. My love for you grows watching you, is that possible? You already seem to fill every thought, every nook and cranny of my heart. I have mentioned before your love for work both taking part and watching others. Your own desire to help around the house is increasing as you make more sense of how the deluge of choreographed motions fit together to complete various tasks. For instance this week you kept swiping the rubber spatula from the kitchen after watching me use it to make cookies and cup cakes, always allowing you to taste the progress of such goodies from it. You took it to the living room and were cooking up something for daddy on the couch and you were continuously offering him imaginary tastes.
In the mornings when I say, "It is time to get dressed," you run to your dresser and grab a
handful of shorts and bring them back to me before I'm even half way down the hall. You're the quickest booger I've ever seen conjuring images of supernatural movements only possible in fictional movies. When doing laundry you will transfer the dirty and clean clothes or towels back and forth, mixing them all up. The other day I caught you trying to sort your clean clothes in the laundry basket I had just placed in your room. The sort was happening high in the air as shorts went one way shirts went another and you'd start all over again when you heap them back into the basket.
It is sweet when you insist on taking the sponge from me to wipe the counters down after dinner or take the extra broom and sweep my pile of dirt willy nilly for me to sweep up again. The pots, pans and mixing bowls make their way out everyday if I even approach the kitchen. You still get Dadoo his bag of M&Ms in the morning if you're up... that reminds me he needs some more!
I am not sure what you think is helpful about pulling out all of your wet wipes on Dadoo's mat in the living room but you have your work face on so I know you think you're doing something. All of these things and more you feel you are helping me greatly so I always give you a big thank you hug. Truth is this turns the work into double the amount of time but I really don't mind most days. You will put your books back on the shelf and help put the toys away. For now that's a little ray of light. Someday soon you'll be helping me in the yard when the insurmountable leaves take their bow to autumn littering our yard in mountain sized mounds. Love, Mama
PS The basket has been in the family for possibly almost 100 years. That was Bahboo's Grandma's basket who immigrated to the United State from Poland around 1908. Pretty cool. Here is a photo of Uncle Gary looking at me in the same basket when I was younger than you are now in 1974.
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