Johnny letter, #18

Dear Johnny,

You are growing up too fast.  Stop that.

You turned three just over a week ago, and since then you've been doing long division and talking to me about the means of production and whether or not to raise the debt ceiling.

The third birthday was epic, between the Johnny Cash Birthday Bash you shared with your buddy Cash (get it? Johnny? Cash?  Johnny Cash Bash?) and the Thomas party you invited all of your grandparents to.  Kid, you know how to rock a birthday.   You started asking me about Thomas cakes six months before that party.  I was so nervous about giving you JUST WHAT YOU WANTED that I broke my own cardinal rule and had the cake store-made.  And no prefab Dillon's sheet cake job, either.  No, I had Muncher's Bakery do a layer cake with Thomas's face plastered atop it, because that is the picture you kept pointing to when we'd pour over the cake choices online.  Yes, that was the entertainment in this house for the past several months. Checking out Thomas cake options online was a nightly event.  No way was I going to attempt my own cake wreck skillz on this thing.  I had to go pro.

You also very much enjoy watching your own baby videos on my computer these days.  I think this is excellent preparation for your upcoming stint as Big Brother to Baby Sister.  See baby? See how cute and fun?  We LOVE the baby.  (Please don't suffocate the baby!)

I got a new job a few months ago, and it turns out my new job is in the same place where you go to school!  That turned out pretty neat.  I love to go in an visit you occasionally during the day, and check you out while you're sleeping, and peek at you through the window in the door to see if you are being a good boy and if you play with the other kids or if you are a loner.  You seem to be doing swimmingly at school, and you even have your first bona-fide best friend. His name, like the buddy you shared your birthday party with, is Cash, so we affectionately call him New Money around the house, and our tried and true Cash is Old Money.  Son, you are wealthy in friends, that is for sure.

Thomas the Tank Engine is still your first love, but you recently discovered Buzz Lightyear (or, BuzzBuzz to you), and your fickle attentions have been diverted, at least for the short term, to Toy Story.  It's all Toy Story, all day.  That, and SUP-er HERO!  Your aunt Debi bought you a t shirt sporting Mickey Mouse in a cape, and it has it's own real live cape velcroed to the shoulders.  You ask me every morning to wear your super hero shirt, but I am trying to limit it to once a week, in fairness to all the other shirts.

We said goodbye this week to your "nursery" as it is in prep for the new baby, and you have moved to your big boy bedroom with the new red blanket and it nearly breaks my heart every time I see your small self sleeping soundly in that big bed.  Yesterday you were sleeping in a bassinet.  Today, you have a comforter and a nightlight.  Yes, you're suddenly a little bit afraid of the dark.  And of cars.  And clowns, and flies, and the moon, and anyone who can roll their tongues.  Developmentally, you're right on track, but seriously, could we keep the fears to only one or two?  You reassure yourself constantly.  "The fly will not get me."  And then you demand that I reinforce it.  "SAY IT, MOMMY!"  "The fly will not get you, Johnny."  Only two hundred times a day.  What time of year to the flies disappear?  I want to mark the day on my calendar.

I know I say it every time, but you get cuter and sweeter every day.  I shed a tear every night when we do our night night routine and you in your little voice say "I lub you too.  See you in the mornin."

You're killing me, Smalls.

We love you more than cotton candy and rainbows and kittens all collected in a box made of smiles.  You are, without a doubt, my heart's delight.

All of me,
Mommy