Journaling Reads:
When I told my mom that we were going to teach you sign language, she
thought I was crazy. “What if he never speaks?” she asked. “Kids who
grow up learning sign language don’t become mute just because they can
learn to talk with their hands,” I replied patiently. It turns out
babies who are taught sign language have higher IQs and bigger
vocabularies by the time they are in elementary school. But that’s not
why I wanted to teach it to you; I just wanted to help you communicate
earlier so you got frustrated less.



In the beginning I didn’t make enough of an effort, but even with that,
you quickly mastered milk, more, food, and the other basics. As you grew
older you’d make the signs with the sounds and now you still sign even
though you can also say the words. When you see a dog, you
simultaneously say “woof, woof,” sign your version of dog, and scream
“doooog!” You’re only two and can already understand three languages.
Who’s crazy now?

Journaling Reads:
Every mom thinks her kid is perfect. He sits up the first. He has
perfect manners. He learns quickly. He never hits. He’s an angel.



Well, my little boy, you’re no angel. You throw six tantrums before
lunch. You hate eating veggies and won’t swallow one unless I mush them
and mix them with yogurt. When you don’t get your way, you lie flat on
the floor and make your whole body go limp so I cannot make you get back
on your feet. You find a way to get your hands on every one of our
things no matter where we hide them and how safe we think they are from
you. When we call for you from one side of the house to the other, all
we hear is a resounding “No!” coming from the room where you’re wreaking
havoc. You still can’t put two words together to form a sentence (except
for “No Way!” which you’ve mastered.) You hate having your hair washed
and will run out of the bathtub at the sight of the shampoo bottle. You
hate circle time and refuse to be a part of it. You’re impatient and
won’t wait for your turn in line, instead you will scream like your arm
is being chopped off until some mom takes mercy on me and lets you cut
in line.



Yes, my son, you’re not perfect.



But, you’re sweet and kind. You are an equal opportunity hug giver. If
you hug me, you run around the house until you can find Daddy so you can
hug him, too. If you eat something you like, after you take a bite, you
reach over and give me a bite as well. With a paper and pen, you can
play by yourself for hours. You will not hurt, push, or shove another
kid. Ever. You say hi to everyone and give them one of your magical
smiles. In case they didn’t hear you well, you say ten more hi’s, louder
and with more enthusiasm each time until they can’t help but laugh. You
get very excited by dogs, birds, cats, and bugs, but you won’t ever hurt
them. You crouch slowly and watch them from a distance. When you eat
something you like, you go “Mmmmmm,” persistently until I reciprocate.
You let me tickle you even when you’re mad. You love running around the
house with me chasing you. You giggle loudly as you run and you look
back every few seconds just to make sure I’m still there. When I leave
for work in the mornings, you come to the door and wave “bye.” When I
put you down at night, you blow me big, loud kisses and then say “shhh”
and “bye” before you lie down. You are so full of love that it pours out
of your eyes.



I love that you’re not perfect, David. I love that you’re a little human
being and like all of us, you have your bad moments and your good ones.
I love that we get to celebrate every day together. I love that you’re
in my life. You are my life. – march 2007

Bleh, not my favorite layout. Just didn’t have the creativity flowing
tonight. Oh well, still love the memory.

Journaling Reads:

One dollar. One single dollar. That’s how much we paid for the cash
register that you’ve been playing with night and day for the last two
weeks. You love it so much, you carry it around with you everywhere you
go. Daddy’s taught you how to put a coin at the top and see it come out
on the side. That’s your favorite game.

But sometimes the coin gets stuck. Then, you look at me and say, “Where
it go?” You pick up the register and shake it around. When you’re
satisfied with the amount of shaking you’ve done, you press the button
and scream with joy at the sight of the coin.

You play thins game hundreds of times a day. Your level of joy at
discovering the coin never dissipates. Your enthusiasm is catching and
soon Daddy and I are laughing, too. Who knew a toy we bought for a buck
would spread this much joy to our whole family?