9-5-78 9:38PM
How did we ever live without you? You came into our lives such a short time ago--I know, for a child, three years seems like forever, but to a father, it was the day before yesterday--and now I have a hard time remembering what it was like without you. Not that I really want to. You are such a precious part of our world--even when you're driving us crazy.
You're growing and changing so fast, more and more every day, and you love to explore--today I caught you banging on your mom's piano, interrupting your brother's lesson again. Actually, I'm pretty sure he was enjoying the distraction; he would play a couple of notes, then you would take a whack at your end of the keyboard, then he would play something different, and you would go at it again. He was trying to look irked, but I think he was having fun--I think the two of you have already invented your own game. If he understands why you choose the keys you do, he's not telling me, but it doesn't seem to bother him that sometimes you mimic his play and sometimes you don't. I hope the two of you never stop playing together.
You do love the music, just like your mother. You don't seem all that interested in the usual tunes, but you like to string together chains of notes, and you don't always stick exclusively to the piano. When you really get revved up with your musical jamboree, you make me think of Burt on Mary Poppins, and how he had a one-man-band act. I'll have to remember to watch that with you, see how you react. Right now you're still mostly doing the cartoon-and-public-broadcasting thing. Although you do keep trying to sneak in when your brother's watching his Godzilla movies--don't think I don't know that, young man. No giant lizards for you, at least not until you're older. And no longer convinced that you can call your television 'friends' on the phone. I do not even want to imagine the bill I'd get if my three-year-old called Japan every Saturday morning asking for "Missa Monsa." We already have to patrol your shows and commercials for phone numbers--you are just way too good at remembering them and way too excited about "ma'in' nummahs tawk."
You are too cute, though. One day, I came home early from work and found you sitting on the kitchen floor in your little overalls, banging away on a couple of pots and a collander with your hands (your mama put all of the mallet-type objects well out of your reach months ago) and I don't get to be home during the day much, so I sat down and started playing with you; I drummed on my chest and my stomach and my knee, and then I did a rat-a-tat-tat on your tummy, and you giggled so hard that you fell over on your back and your feet flew up in the air. It was so funny, and now I wish I'd had a camera, especially for the moment when your mama came blazing in, thinking you were hurt, and the expression on her face was just priceless when she realized what was happening. I wanted to capture that moment forever.
Three is a great age. You bounce pretty much everywhere you go; you have a decent vocabulary, and that will get better when we can get you to slow down a little; you're out of diapers, and tonight you're spending your first night in Donny's old big-boy bed with the new counting sheets and robot blanket your mama bought for you. It's an exciting change. Your mother gave you the sheets and blanket this morning at breakfast, and she's been talking to you all day about your "new" bed and how you're not a baby anymore (of course, you'll always be our baby.) You see, this is why she's the smartest and most amazing woman any of us will ever know--she figured that you would have trouble with the transition, so she's been easing you into it.
And you know what? She was right--I can hear her getting you ready for bed, and you're a little uncertain about the bed situation, but she's reminding you of all the stuff she said today, and I think you're even sort of helping her put the sheets on your bed. I can hear you chattering away, getting more and more settled with the change. Now she's going over the counting blocks on the sheets, and even though we know that you know your numbers and can count pretty much anything you want, you're still doing it with her, and I think you really are enjoying it, every single number and every single picture, every single concept, and mostly every single moment with your mother. You know I love you, and I love spending what very little time with you that I ever get, and yeah, I guess part of me is just a little jealous, but there are very few things in this world that sound as good or as much like home to me as the sound of you and your mother laughing together.
And there's my cue--you're calling for me. It's time for me to go in and help put you to bed and sing the 'count to ten' song your mother wrote for you; I don't know if you will remember any of this by the time you read these notes, but I know that we will. These are precious times, and when you're off in the world, doing great things, the music and the numbers and the love will always be waiting here for you.
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