Dearest Adelaide,
Unlike last year, you are definitely aware that you are now three. This morning after informing me that it was your birthday, you asked if you could use grown-up tools now. Unfortunately, there are no knives or screwdrivers in your immediate future, little one.
Your imagination is just incredible. You can make a stick or a rock into just about anything – a fire hose, a school bus – there’s no limit. You love your sticks and rocks so much that you have to be patted down after playtime at school to prevent you from secreting bits of nature into the classroom.
You rarely pass a puddle without jumping in it. You rarely pass a muddy patch without squishing your fingers into it. You rarely pass a rock without putting it in your pocket (this is probably the reason for the pat-downs).
I love the way you phrase things. You’ll tell me that you “very want to” do something (most commonly immediately after I’ve told you why we can’t). You tell me my name starts with “haitch” like a tiny British child.
I’m also loathe to correct the way you say “together” and, in fact, make specific requests for you to sing a favorite song of yours from school.
The more we get to-geg-er!
to-GEG-er!
to-GEG-er!
The more we get to-geg-er the happier we’ll be!
You have this unbelievable grit. When you set out to do something, you keep trying and trying until you get it. I watch you fall off of new elements on the playground and get right back up saying “I’ll try again!” and I am just in awe. You certainly didn’t get that resiliency from me. Family lore indicates that I attempted walking once at around 10 months old, fell, and didn’t try again for quite some time. I could stand to be far more like you, sweet girl.
Sleep. Ah, you have a love/hate relationship with sleep. Do I document this or do I let it fade into the milky haze of memory? I’ll go with the latter. Just know that I have stories for you if you ever come to me with a little no-sleep-warrior of your own.
Your love for our cat is boundless. He’s become part of your standard introduction when we meet new kids. “Hi, I’m Ada. I have an Odie at home!” When Daniel Tiger met twins in the Neighborhood of Make Believe, you cheerfully told him that you and Odie are twins. All the kids at school know about Odie. Your little bestie even has shoes with cats on them that she calls her “Odie shoes”. That cat is a legend.
You love trying to incorporate Odie into your games. He doesn’t understand the vast majority of your commands but his patience is remarkable. He clearly loves you, too.
You love balloons, bubbles, and snow. For Halloween you were a kitty-cat chef ballerina. Daniel Tiger is your life coach. You are a joy.
Love,
Mommy