Two and a half

Jordan my sweet,

You are now two and a half. People weren't kidding when they said the time goes so fast. Pretty soon you'll be three, and then 12, and then suddenly, out of the blue, you'll be done with high school.

And I bet they'll still be doing construction on 18th Street.

This month you started labeling yourself with things you like. It's whatever the enjoyment of the moment is. For example, you started with "I'm a treat boy!" And then you got more specific. Now you'll say, "I'm a cupcake boy!" When you learned the joy of M&Ms, you immediately tagged yourself "an MumM boy!"

One of the things you really are is an adventure boy.

Your dad started taking you on Saturday and Sunday adventures months and months ago. Anything can constitute an adventure. You love the fire station. But you also love Home Depot, which, somehow, you've conflated with Old Hippo in The Little Gorilla, and so you call it Cold Home Hippo.

Adventures have defined components: a walk or a car trip to get there. Then time spent at the place: the marina, the airport, the train station, etc. And then, then hot dogs and french fries and some kind of treat. Usually ice cream or a cupcake.

These are all important pieces of the adventure.

On Saturday we all went on a Big Adventure to Fort Washington. I'm not particularly interested in American history, but your dad loves this sort of thing and it was a beautiful day, and lots of fun to walk around.Well, lots of fun for some of us. You, however, wanted to be carried. And NOT, I repeat NOT on Daddy's shoulders.You are so much like your father, although he says he was quite bold as a kid, which I can well imagine, and you are more cautious. Not at home, not in places you know and are confident. But in new situations.

But it's a joy to watch the two of you together, because the same things appeal to you. We were walking down a big hill, and your dad dropped to the ground and started rolling. You thought this was hilarious. Whereas I was thinking, ew, grass is itchy.

You both love to look at things like boats and planes and trains. And cannons! Oh, you like cannons! And I like going along as part of a family outing. But I'm never like, oh, wow! genuinely excited about the size of a cannon. Naturally, I can fake it. But it's not like if we were at a Nordstrom shoe sale or something.Last weekend your dad took you to the fire department, and you two got there just before they got called to a fire. Apparently they came sliding down the pole. And Dad was all, "Hey, cool! You guys really do slide down the pole!"

I don't actually think anyone ever grows out of firemen, to tell the truth.

I had to take this picture of you in your little scooted-up sweatpants and stripey socks. Those pants always scootch up your legs, and it bugs you. And you don't know how to say pull them down, so you say, "Close my pants! Close them!" And then we pull them down to your ankles and they scoot themselves right up again.You've always been very much your own little person, but I feel like in this past month you've become an even better conversationalist, and really, quite good company.

I mean, yes, sometimes you ask the same question over and over and overandoverandover until I'm pretty sure my ears are going to bleed. And sometimes you whine incessantly. But just as often now, you make really interesting or hilarious observations. You're endlessly fascinated with what can fit into what, and sizes and shapes.

You're starting to ask why about things. Of course, sometimes the why is you dumping your milk on the table and then asking, "Why I did that, Mama?"

I love you so much, my biggie boy.

Love,

Mama