The terrific threes.

Every year since untitledson was born, I’ve written a letter to him highlighting the past year’s events. Since I have untitledlife now, I decided to write the letter and share it with ya’ll. Yes, I know Dooce does something similiar, but I have been doing this yearly letter thing since 2004.

Names have been changed to protect the guilty.


Dear untitledson,

I feel so bad, writing this letter almost four months after your third birthday. Life’s been so busy – we’re getting ready to build a new house, which means new doorstops for you to twiddle and a new room from which to run your growing operation for world domination. This past year has been the one in which you’ve transformed from my baby to my little man. But oh, those cheeks of yours – they tell a different tale!

At daycare, we have you enrolled in a weekly music class, where you sing songs, shake jingles, beat on drums and dance with scarves. Your music teacher, Ms. Tonia, tells us that you enjoy yourself and dive right in, often getting so excited that you stumble on your words. Whenever I ask you how music class was, I only get a “fine.” Your lack of description leads me to think that you’re preparing us for your teen years, when the only words you’ll utter will be “fine,” “OK,” and “can I use the car?” When you don’t think I’m listening, I’ll often hear you sing snippets of unfamiliar songs – ones I know that we didn’t teach you. Around St. Patrick’s Day, you were singing some song about a leprechaun hiding in the hay. You pronounced it “leper-con.” Pretty darned cute.

In addition to music class, you are also taking dance class. Originally, I did not sign you up for this class, since you’re already enrolled in music class. But your teachers informed me that you threw a fit when you saw your girlfriend Emery going to dance class without you. So we signed you up. You are the only boy in the class, but from all accounts, you thoroughly enjoy it. I have no idea what you do in dance class, other than stretching and something called the “side-step,” which you’ve talked about.

One of your favorite TV shows has been “Jack’s Big Music Show,” which stars three critters who play drums, guitar and accordion. As a result, you have insisted on having your very own guitar, accordion and drum set (which we keep saying Santa will bring to you). Whenever you watch this show, or any other show with music, you will run and get your guitar and play along with the music. You’ll catch your reflection in the fireplace glass and go through several rock star poses and pouty faces before you realize we’re watching and you get all shy. Other TV shows you like right now include “Pinky Dinky Doo” and “Doodlebops.” You claim to have outgrown “Blue’s Clues,” which I think is quite tragic. Steve’s voice is quite calming to me, in a strange Mister Rogers sort of way.

At daycare, you have become known as quite the ladies’ man. Your best friend forever is Emery. You two have been together since you were both in your momma’s tummies (Emery’s mommy and I work together). Recently, you’ve also taken up with a little girl named Madison. From what your teachers tell me, this made little Miss Emery none too happy. But you are oblivious. You have this shy, aloof personality, which seems to draw the little girls to you. Mommy also makes sure her little honeypot is a natty dresser, which only helps your game.

In the past few months, I’ve been working on a lot of freelance at night. This means that you and Daddio have gotten even closer. It’s clear that you look up to your Daddy, and you like to have the same as him (“We got the SAME!”), whether it’s a shirt with buttons, or a mini rake so you can both tackle lawn work. Your Daddy is a disciplined man who always has a million things going on at any given time, and you bring out this warm, loving, caring side of him. He’d do absolutely anything for you, as would I. Of course, this tidbit of information makes us extremely vulnerable to trips to Disneyland, new bicycles and the occasional sucker. We’ll do our best not to spoil you rotten, but it’s going to be hard.

From a development perspective, you have been potty trained since February 2006 (thanks, Grandma!). Your dad and I took a week-long vacation and left you with Grandma and Pappa. When we came back, she had you all potty trained! It was amazing, because when we left, you weren’t even close to being trained. It didn’t interest you in the least. Just recently (like in May), we did away with the Pull-Ups at night. You’ve been dry every morning so far. What a big boy – completely potty trained at 3 years of age!

As for things you like to do, you love to swing in the backyard and push your bubble mower around in the driveway. You pull it up to the stoop, and I fill ‘er up for you with bubble liquid. You know most of your alphabet letters by sight, and you love to help out in the kitchen. You help me mix up food, and you put the recyclables in the bin. You also love it when we read books to you. Some of your favorites right now include this book that explains everything about fire engines and firefighters, “Olivia” books, “My Truck Book,” and “Corduroy.” We’ve noticed that once we read a book to you five or six times, you can then recite the majority of it back to us by memory, inflections and all. At Christmastime, we read you “Twas the Night Before Christmas.” Within a few weeks, you could recite it to us, which was quite impressive considering the lengthy verses and the old English words like “twas” and “kerchief.”

We’ve started what everyone tells us is a bad habit by letting you crawl in to bed with us at night. You always begin the evening in your bedroom. But as soon as we tuck you in and head down the stairs, you truck on over to our bed, usually toting with you a few toys, stuffed animals and books. It’s not uncommon for us to find Hot Wheels and CDs in our bed at night. We’re almost positive that having you sleep with us is something we will one day regret. But right now, we love it. Nothing beats snuggling up to you at night, with that sweet lavender scent of Johnson’s & Johnson’s Calming Baby Lotion wafting up from your tiny, curled-up body. I give you tight squeezes throughout the night, and pull you towards me. You wriggle a bit, letting me know that my love is a bit too strong for three in the morning.

We found out this year that we can’t have any more children. We tried really hard for about a year and half, but nothing took. It’s been sad for us, because we always wanted you to have a sibling – someone to pal around with and share the burden of caring for us when we get old and decrepit. It just wasn’t in the grand master plan, I guess. But at the same time, we feel so grateful that we have you. You’re so perfect, the world has decided that we only get one of you. Bequeathing any more blessings onto us would be unfair to the rest of the parents out there who only get average children. We have no doubt that you will have no problem keeping our lives full, and we thank you for that. You are such a gift, and you give each day purpose and meaning for us.

All my love,


4 thoughts on “The terrific threes.”

  1. I wish computers had been in my home when my kids were growing. There are so many wonderful little things they said and did that I am sure my “old timers” disease will erase some day and it is a shame that I got so caught up in daily life and mothering that I didnt write them down. U-son will love reading your love letters some day 🙂

  2. Is it a done deal about the no more children?
    Or was the choice between uncertain expense of fertility treatments, and the crushing burden of a mortgage on a new house?
    I always say, keep practicing, just for the fun of it, and things could happen.
    Might help to get numbah one son outta the durn bed though 😉

Comments are closed.