Fifty-Eight Months

Dear Peeper:
A few days ago, you turned fifty-eight months old. Just two months shy of five. In fact, as of yesterday, we can say that you'll "be five next month." That's just crazy talk.

We've had a pretty exciting month, what with our trip to Sesame Place and all, but of course, the biggest news of the month would be starting school at the Montessori Academy.

I was actually much less nervous about that than I thought I would be, I guess because you were doing so well by the end of last school year and also because of the phase-in days. I mean, it's really kind of hard to get too worked up about an hour and a quarter. I was almost more nervous on Thursday, when you stayed the full three hours (which is nothing compared to the five you did last year) and all the other kids were there (a big difference from the five in your class the first few days).

And you've handled it well, too. There were a few moments of, "Why do I have to go to school?" and "Why can't we just learn things at home?" (I love that "learning things" is a given.) and you were really tired by the end of the week, but you hung in there, and we've had a very calm (lazy) three-day weekend to recover from it, and I think you'll be ready to go again in the morning. I hope.

(Lazy is an understatement. We've not left the house since we came home from school and work, respectively, on Friday evening. Mommy had to work Saturday and today, but that's it.)

On the other hand, as I've already blogged about, you had a couple of meltdowns yesterday and today, which are really uncharacteristic for you. If they'd happened a few days ago, I definitely would have blamed stress and exhaustion, but I'd think you would be rested up by now. Maybe you're not. Or maybe you're getting sick (you're supposed to be pretty much over a respiratory thing, actually) or who knows what. But it's not cool. Stop it.

Other than that, you've mostly been your usual funny, creative, amazing little self.

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While playing Three Little Pigs (in costume), you said, "I'm a little piggy. Don't make pork out of me."

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You had a conversation with your booty.
You: "Butt-hocks?"
(Me): "Yes?"
You: "You keep following me."

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You don't like it when your computer squirrels too fast for you to click where she wants.

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A couple of weeks ago, I got you up to pee, as usual. I carried you into the bathroom, put you down in front of the toilet, pulled your panties down and before I could lift you onto the toilet you started peeing. All over the floor, on my feet, on your panties that were around your ankles. Bless your heart.

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The morning of the first day of school, you discovered that you're now tall enough to reach the light switches.

That evening, I found peanut butter on a light switch.

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A few days ago, you were wearing mis-matched shoes and singing, "I'm the clowniest clown of them all!"

Later, when your metal pinwheel was throwing sun-reflections all over the room, you said they were lightning, and "I'm Zeus! I'm the King of the Gods! I'm the goddiest of them all!"

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While reading The Wizard of Oz at bedtime, I read, "...they bade them farewell with many good wishes to carry with them."

You: How can they carry wishes?
Me: Weeelll....
Ellie: I know. It's like how I carry my feelings. Everywhere I go, my feelings go with me. I carry them in my head.
Whoa.

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Evidently, you don't like hot doggie breath. "Galoot, can you pant more colder, please?"

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And, as usual a million other things that I forgot to record.

Happy monthibirthday, my heart. I love you!


Love,
Mama