Dear Colin (2014)

Dear Colin,

You are (almost) two and sometimes you are terrible. And sometimes you are delightful. It is like you are Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, just shorter, fatter, and cuter.

Your favorite word is no. A few weeks ago, you were yelling in your sleep. You were not even awake and you were yelling, “No!” I videotaped you sitting in the highchair while I was cooking dinner the other day. “Candy!” you yelled. I told you that I did not have any candy and yet, you continued to demand candy for the next thirty minutes. I am sorry that your life is so terrible right now. This, too, shall pass.

Sometimes you are just a doll. You have been waking up happy this week. Last weekend you woke me up with a very loud song in which the only word I understood was McDonald’s. You were not singing about Old McDonald, you were singing about the fast food restaurant that we visit way too often apparently. One day, I walked into your room to wake you up and found you sitting in your bed looking at “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom.” You were pointing at the letters and saying, “One, two, three…” And though, you clearly cannot discern numbers from letters, I give you points for trying, plus you ARE only two.

You love to be Brady’s helper and he recruits you for all kinds of mischief. I often tell you that you are two peas in a pod. Sullivan loves to snuggle you and share his snacks with you.

And though I cannot help but look forward to the day that you are more independent (read potty-trained and able to be left unsupervised for two minutes), I cherish this time with you all short, mouthy, and defiant, because I know that it is (most likely) fleeting.



2014-09-23 14.51.53

2014-08-01 13.50.45

2014-07-03 16.25.51


About jillo31

I always wanted to write the great American novel. I've come to the realization that that may not happen. Instead, I'm going to write about my life as a working mom to three boys. I figure in ten years, I won't remember what these days are like. I want to record my everyday victories and struggles.
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