Month 21: Take it OAF!

Dear Jordan,

You say this approximately 57 million times per day. What you mean, vehemently, is "Take it off!" But it comes out as "Take it OAF!"

This applies to shirts, pants, socks. You're generally OK with your socks and your fake crocs. You usually calm down after the initial trying to get your just-put-on-clothes off.

And I envision it as a derisive command. "Take it, OAF!"

Hats enrage you, however. On you, on me, on Nana, whoever. "Mama, take it OAF hat!"

What I'm constantly floored by is your language development. I wish I'd payed more attention in grad school, because I remember thinking The Language Instinct was very interesting. But Chomsky kind of bogged me down.

But it's pretty amazing to see you use grammar correctly. Like, possessives. You say "Mama's shoes" rather than "Mama shoes" - you get it. And adjectives - you put them before the noun, even if it's a combination you haven't heard before. Your sentences get more complex from week to week.

I just find it so interesting that all of this falls into place, and you build, hour by hour. Seriously. You take a nap and wake up saying new things.

You're very much in observe and report mode. One of your favorite things to report on is the state of the neighbors. You like to peer out the window and say things like, "Greg not outside." and "Bruno eating flowers."

Poor old Bruno, who you caught eating flowers once (although he apparently does it on a regular basis) is like Hector Big Wood - he's going to be a flower eater for the rest of his doggie life.

While so many of these things are completely charming, you've gotten a little challenging as of late, which is the opposite of charming. I try to remind myself that you're figuring out your personality and your boundaries and trying to see what the limits are for everything.

But it is exhausting, and I don't always have the patience I need. I'm sorry about that. I do try, you know.

You and Nana have great times together, and go on all kinds of outings. It turns out that you are both milkshake fiends, and you now suggest heading over to the Diner for a milkshake on quite a regular basis. "Milkshake?" you'll say, very casually.

One night I was putting dinner in front of you and you said, "The Diner?" Sorry, pal, but it's a broccoli and pasta night for you.

You still miss your little friend David and you talk about him and going to his house regularly, hopefully, wistfully. I once said, "David's all gone" - which then made it sound like he's dead, which of course he's not. So now I say, "October! We'll see David in October!"

I know this means nothing to you, but it is true.

We still love you like crazy, and you're the best thing in our world, even if sometimes we gnash our teeth and pull at our hair and talk about selling you on the street corner.

OK, we don't really talk about it. I just think it sometimes. But not very often. And your dad is going to be horrified when he reads this. In other words: you're totally safe. And stuck with us for life.

Love you love you love you,

Mama