Wanderlust

Letters to the O

Thirty One Months

We began this month of your life with a weekend camping trip. It was dirty, it was difficult and gosh darn it, it was almost fun. Your Dad and I spent a great deal of time camping and enjoying the quiet, simple reflection it provides before you came along. Camping with you is a different sort of experience. One that involves a certain level of grossness and constant management. The reward though is your honest admiration of scenery, your mimicked contemplation of the fire, and watching you read yourself stories in the tent and fall asleep by the glow of your flashlight.

After a quick trial run up at camping in our old stomping grounds in Liberty at North Fork park, we embarked on our marathon 11 day trip to Crater Lake, the Redwoods, and Yosemite. This was the longest and most ambitious bout of camping we'd attempted since our cross country trip and certainly the longest trip we'd taken with you anywhere. It had the potential to be disastrous. Hiking, camping, minimal access to proper hygiene and a diaper wearing toddler.

What happened in fact was that you were pretty amazing and so was the trip. We had some tough times in camp though. You fell of the same picnic table bench three times in one night because it was slightly sloped and got a mouthful of dirt. It took some time before you understood that driving your dump trucks by in a cloud of dust next to my kitchen supplies and food was a bad idea. You also had a hard time understanding why when your cup or a piece of food fell onto the ground it became toxic and off limits. And eventually you realized that until you had been cleaned by a barrage of baby wipes, you were not allowed to touch anything but most especially not me and not Dad.

But you learned to hike on our trip. We strapped a mini backpack on you and encouraged you to walk. This was slightly painful since your pace ranged from molasses to snail, but well worth the effort in patience since you were damn heavy to carry. You enjoyed the independence and frequently sassed back when we urged you to get moving,

"I coming! Stop talking to me."

Back at home, independence is your newest motivation and you've learned to get dressed, put on your shoes and brush your own teeth, more or less successfully. Dad and I marvel though that unlike some other unreasonable toddlers, you're not eager to try things beyond your capabilities. If we offer to let you hold something on the way to the store checkout that turns out to be too heavy to handle, you easily and cheerfully surrender it as if it say, "Here. I'm a kid. This isn't that fun. You do it."

Your vocabulary has exploded in the last month and your language skills are so impressive, Dad and I are certain we have the most expressive toddler on the planet. You use words like opportunity, necessary, frustrating and absolutely in your everyday conversation. This makes it all the more aggravating when you break down into tears and we can't get any more explanation than a murmur of words behind the wailing. Talk, god damn it. And stop being two. Geesh.

Sometimes Dad and I worry that maybe because you hang out with adults so much and your language is so advanced, that we expect too much of you. That we'll create an environment that's too serious, where you'll grow up much sooner than you should. And every time we worry, you convince us it's okay by breaking down into long sessions of total goofiness and giggling. Recently I took you to watch Dad go-kart race and you were playing with one of the little boys there, Jack. Jack is just a few months older than you and you adore him, following him like a shadow. You and Jack were leaning up against the glass, not even watching the race. You were both mimicking funny faces against the glass and breaking out into peals of giggles at each others obscure and creative silly noises. It made me smile to watch you be absolutely comfortable and happy in both worlds- adult and toddler- and know you would make friends no matter where life led you.

Posted by Kaz at August 24, 2008 7:54 AM