Letter to son - Early February 2014
Hello my Big Boy 4,
You were thrilled to bits to finally reach the Big Boy status of Four Years Old. Now you are even stronger, braver and cleverer than ever before. When I write your name it must ALWAYS be followed by a great BIG 4. My little darling, you won't let me call you baby any more, even when I explain that baby is not me calling you a newborn but me giving you pet name indicating my love for you. You'll still be my baby when you are SIXTY-four. Which is OK, because you tell me you want to live with me forever, and I tell you that you can live with me for as long as you want. For "fifty-ten years", you say, and I say, I really hope that we are still living together then, because I will be one hundred years old.
Any big thing, be it distance, or age or height, is ten. Ten must seem to be a very big number for you right now. You know your numbers perfectly, both recited and written and you are grasping simple mathematics which amazes me. You know every letter of the alphabet and books continue to be a very important part of our day, especially last thing at night. I sometimes catch you "reading", following the words in the book with your finger and telling the story as you remember it. I can't interrupt or help you, I would get told off, because you love to figure things out by yourself, and practice on your own before presenting me with your next newly-learned skill.
Your fine motor skills are incredible, you love to fiddle and make and take things apart to see how they work and then put them back together again. You love this more than the easier things like building a train track. The screwdriver is always being used, and I have to check for tiny screws on the floor before vacuuming, just in case you have missed one. You steadfastly refuse to write though, even though you can read some simple two and three letter words and recognise longer familiar ones like "Mummy"and "Thomas". You can play "i spy" amazingly well, and rarely make a mistake, you even knew that phone began with a "p", which I was very impressed about.
I think you struggle to hold a pen properly, even though I have presented you with an array of pens, pencils and crayons especially designed for children. It makes you cross when you can't do something, you are so clever, I think you expect to do everything easily, but you will get it, in time.
I was so proud that you tried to write me a letter but you were just cross with yourself for not being able to write "Mummy" as you would like, and so you hid it from me. I felt your frustration that day, you poor chick. You know your letters, you can type, you just struggle with writing. Sometimes it seems as though you are a grown up trapped in the body of a child, you are so mature in many ways and get annoyed at the limitations that I have to place on you, for protection and health and safety (you NEED to sleep and eat!).
You have an imaginary workshop, in your imaginary house, and you can fix things there, and invent the most fantastic vehicles and tools. I'd love to visit one day, you tell me it is blue and green and has every tool that you could ever need. I think it might be based on your Grandad's workshop, which is pretty fantastic itself. Every day, from start to finish you are doing, thinking, creating. I love your stories, but you tell me they are not stories they are real. Well, whatever they are I love to hear your voice, narrating through the day, helping your trains out and giving them instructions, telling me and our dog that you love us. I love your clear but childishly lisping accent, and it brings many smiles to my heart, so much that I never want it to change into a big boy voice, all deep and strange. But I know it will, and I will still love it when it changes.
You love your home, it is your favourite place,full of your toys and dreams and imagination. I struggle to get you outdoors sometimes at the moment, but then, it is just past Christmas and your birthday and you have lots of lovely toys to play with, plus it has been so windy, cold and rainy. We sometimes go geocaching, you like to find prizes, and it's a good way to combine a dog walk with some excitement.
We went to Thomas Land on New Year's Day this year, it was raining all day and cold but there were no queues for the rides and we had such an amazing time. You were delighted with the "snow" when it came, and posed proudly with the Fat Controller for a picture. We went on Jeremy so many times that I had to get off in the end because I was feeling queezy and you helped me be brave on the Troublesome Trucks. Oh how I screamed!
I love you baby, though and through, everyday more than the last.
Your Mummy xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
You were thrilled to bits to finally reach the Big Boy status of Four Years Old. Now you are even stronger, braver and cleverer than ever before. When I write your name it must ALWAYS be followed by a great BIG 4. My little darling, you won't let me call you baby any more, even when I explain that baby is not me calling you a newborn but me giving you pet name indicating my love for you. You'll still be my baby when you are SIXTY-four. Which is OK, because you tell me you want to live with me forever, and I tell you that you can live with me for as long as you want. For "fifty-ten years", you say, and I say, I really hope that we are still living together then, because I will be one hundred years old.
Any big thing, be it distance, or age or height, is ten. Ten must seem to be a very big number for you right now. You know your numbers perfectly, both recited and written and you are grasping simple mathematics which amazes me. You know every letter of the alphabet and books continue to be a very important part of our day, especially last thing at night. I sometimes catch you "reading", following the words in the book with your finger and telling the story as you remember it. I can't interrupt or help you, I would get told off, because you love to figure things out by yourself, and practice on your own before presenting me with your next newly-learned skill.
Your fine motor skills are incredible, you love to fiddle and make and take things apart to see how they work and then put them back together again. You love this more than the easier things like building a train track. The screwdriver is always being used, and I have to check for tiny screws on the floor before vacuuming, just in case you have missed one. You steadfastly refuse to write though, even though you can read some simple two and three letter words and recognise longer familiar ones like "Mummy"and "Thomas". You can play "i spy" amazingly well, and rarely make a mistake, you even knew that phone began with a "p", which I was very impressed about.
I think you struggle to hold a pen properly, even though I have presented you with an array of pens, pencils and crayons especially designed for children. It makes you cross when you can't do something, you are so clever, I think you expect to do everything easily, but you will get it, in time.
I was so proud that you tried to write me a letter but you were just cross with yourself for not being able to write "Mummy" as you would like, and so you hid it from me. I felt your frustration that day, you poor chick. You know your letters, you can type, you just struggle with writing. Sometimes it seems as though you are a grown up trapped in the body of a child, you are so mature in many ways and get annoyed at the limitations that I have to place on you, for protection and health and safety (you NEED to sleep and eat!).
You have an imaginary workshop, in your imaginary house, and you can fix things there, and invent the most fantastic vehicles and tools. I'd love to visit one day, you tell me it is blue and green and has every tool that you could ever need. I think it might be based on your Grandad's workshop, which is pretty fantastic itself. Every day, from start to finish you are doing, thinking, creating. I love your stories, but you tell me they are not stories they are real. Well, whatever they are I love to hear your voice, narrating through the day, helping your trains out and giving them instructions, telling me and our dog that you love us. I love your clear but childishly lisping accent, and it brings many smiles to my heart, so much that I never want it to change into a big boy voice, all deep and strange. But I know it will, and I will still love it when it changes.
You love your home, it is your favourite place,full of your toys and dreams and imagination. I struggle to get you outdoors sometimes at the moment, but then, it is just past Christmas and your birthday and you have lots of lovely toys to play with, plus it has been so windy, cold and rainy. We sometimes go geocaching, you like to find prizes, and it's a good way to combine a dog walk with some excitement.
We went to Thomas Land on New Year's Day this year, it was raining all day and cold but there were no queues for the rides and we had such an amazing time. You were delighted with the "snow" when it came, and posed proudly with the Fat Controller for a picture. We went on Jeremy so many times that I had to get off in the end because I was feeling queezy and you helped me be brave on the Troublesome Trucks. Oh how I screamed!
I love you baby, though and through, everyday more than the last.
Your Mummy xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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