Glad - David Byrne

dear emerson,

where did this year go? on this day last year, you were just turning two. you were still almost a baby, still discovering so many things. in just one short year, you have turned into a little boy. you are so tall, and so strong. when you don’t want to sit in the naughty spot, i have to hold you there, and you give me a workout, kid. when people ask me about you, they always ask whether or not you ask why all the time. um, YES. without fail. you want to know why everything is the way it is, and usually, daddy has the answers. we don’t make up silly answers for you, because you know they’re wrong. if you want to know why thunder happens, you are never willing to accept anything less than scientific, which is why daddy has the answers. mama needs to brush up on her science.

you are still enjoying good music, and this year, you’ve added morrissey and spoon and david byrne and (FINALLY) they might be giants to your list of favorites. you especially love the song about the planets, as well as the one about the scientific method. tmbg are just funny. but as far as interests are concerned, what you are most interested in can be summed up in one word:

DINOSAURS.

truly, kid, you freaking love dinosaurs. if something has a dinosaur on it or even vaguely resembles a dinosaur, you must know what it is. and you pretty much know everything there is to know. it’ll be a real blow to the paleontological community if you decide on another career path. you know the difference between brachiosaurus and apatosaurus, between utahraptor and velociraptor, between kentrosaurus and tuojiangosaurus. you know who is a carnivore, herbivore, omnivore, piscivore. you know how big they all are and it’s not a day if either mama or daddy isn’t chasing you around the house, pretending to be a fierce carnotaurus. you scream and hide, but we can always find you because we can hear you giggling. you love to be scared like that.

in fact, you’re pretty freaking fearless. you pick up every insect you see, which has taught you a lot about bees. i think you probably won’t pick up a bee again. you still can point to the spot on your thumb where the bee stung you, and you still will tell me how it hurt and how you cried. and what the hell are slugs? insects? where’s your daddy? (daddy says it's a gastropod. okeydokey.) at any rate, you have no problem picking up slugs. you balance on our retaining wall, giving me heart failure, but you never bobble. you run so fast, and are never afraid of falling down. and even if you do fall down, it’s rare that you cry. you just get back up and keep running. right now, you’re only really scared of the trailer for where the wild things are. and even then, because you love to be scared, you cling to me while asking to watch it again, because the wild things are really quite nice, according to you. they’re just a little scary.

you’re still on the books. books, books, books, kid. we read them all the time. you have so many of them memorized that you like to sit and turn the pages while you recite the story. your favorite books now, aside from anything dinosaur-related, are the frances stories, the punk farm books, and all the richard scarry stories. however, you will ask me to read whatever book is available, no matter how lame it is. in fact, you have a horrifying knack for picking out the worst book on the shelf when we’re at the bookstore. i think it’s your special torture for me when we are there. i don’t want to censor your reading, i just want to stay sane, and if i am going to have to read a book seven hundred times, it better be good.

you’ve recently been introduced to movies, and have seen two. your mama has a real issue with disney and pixar and all the marketing crap that goes along with them, so you have not yet seen finding nemo or cars or any of those. please understand - that is because your mama has issues. you'll see them eventually, i'm sure. you have seen babe and the adventures of milo and otis. you LOVE those movies. you love the characters, and are always requesting that your daddy and i make up stories featuring the characters. you recently told me, as i was dancing around the house, that i needed to be a better dancer like farmer hoggett. i’ll work on that, buddy. i promise. james cromwell is pretty darn good.

your favorite things to eat are macaroni and cheese (which you request in a very silly voice every time), baked beans, and chips & queso. green veggies? not so much. fruit? bananas are a go, but everything else is suspect, so you drink a lot of juice and eat fruitabu. and holy jebus, do you like milk. most of our disposable income is actually spent on milk, i think.

emerson, you are funny. you are really developing your own little sense of humor. the other day, you came in with a bag on your head and announced that you were bagaceratops. and, two days ago, after you got out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and came in our room, i reminded you that there was no light outside yet and that you needed to go back to bed. and you pulled open the curtains, and pointed to the neighbors’ porch light, and announced, rather loudly for 5:00 in the morning, YES, THERE IS LIGHT. IT’S RIGHT THERE. you love to run around naked and dance and play your guitar and i can’t stop writing because i love you so much.

want to know how much? i didn’t get this post up on your birthday, which was yesterday. you see, we gave you a new movie, the land before time, and you just HAD to watch it last night. as soon as it was over, you burst into tears; you didn’t want it to be over, and you wanted to watch it again so badly. we, in an attempt to be good, consistent parents, said no and held our ground, and that’s when the tantrum began. you had such a good birthday, and you were tired and emotional and hopped up on icing and, wow, the evening devolved fast into a giant puddle of tears and foot stomping. we finally got you in your jammies, and you eventually stopped crying, but you did that horrible sniffling thing that kids do after they cry too hard and wanted me to lie down with you in your bed. i said that i’d stay for a few minutes, but you begged me to stay “for a lot of minutes. for a long, long time.” and i did. so long, in fact, that your daddy had to come wake me up, and even then, i didn’t leave. i just held on to you and watched you sleep, as you clutched your new stuffed octopus (whom you have christened mudo). you are my birdie boy, my sweet emerson, and i love you with all of my heart.

happy birthday, buddy.

*edited to add: holy shit, i'm a windbag. i have no excuses, other than the fact that i'm a total effing sap about my kid. and i think that i kind of come off here like a really braggy asshole parent. sorry, folks (that is, if you even read this far).