A part of me wants to hide from you when I am working, vanity urging me to fruit, but the better parts of me always concede with a smile. You put down the skateboard, run to me in your helmet, wanting to draw too. And there you have it. I like your style, kid. Like the skatepark you told me you were working on here. Full of motion and joy. Hang onto that expressiveness.

I can’t stand Pokemon. I don’t understand Pokemon. And I don’t know when Ford turned on the tv one day and turned himself on to Pokemon. But it happened quite naturally. And it happened just as naturally for you. Today I asked, flat out,
Chas, why do you like Pokemon?
You grinned sideways and replied,
Because they have nummies.
And nummies, being our slang for nipples, are an enduring delight. In fact, you wants some of your own. See?

One of the best things about having you around all the time is that you have a lot of energy and zeal, which rubs off on me. I try to remember being such an effervescent wellspring but I can’t. I can only remember as far back as big wheels and stubbed toes. Was I ever this rowdy? I don’t know. Probably not.

What’s amazing is that, at the other end of the spectrum, you are able to focus for such long periods of time now on a drawing, or at play, or on a bug. Today the dry carapace of a ladybug fell to the ground when I opened your car door. Last week, you found this very ladybug on the beach and showed it to me, squealing in the strange context of your discovery, cradling it in your wonder. When I looked back at you, sleeping on the car ride home from Half Moon Bay, I noticed the ladybug between your fingers. You must have held onto it for two hours.
Was it intense focus, or was it the very toddler need to fill an empty hand? You do both equally well. I’m just glad I wasn’t that ladybug, even though I’d have been flattered.

xoxo
*mom