Ah, my sweet, little, chocolate-covered, Lucy and Jane. You have become older, wiser, funnier, taller, smarter people since I last wrote. You are almost three. THREE! I’m still not entirely sure how that happened.
You love Daisy, our new mini-van, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. We can’t go to the library, the park, or Costco often enough. You preface about a third of your comments with, “When we were little…”. You are so good at puzzles, naming your feelings (Jane, you scrunch up your face and say, “I’m kinda nerbous”), and giving hugs.
You’ve been to Wisconsin with the Stroessners (now you like to say “it’s hard to keep track of all my cousins”); you’ve seen the giant bean (or goose egg if you insist, which you almost always do – insist, that is) in Chicago; you’ve learned that you’re going to be big sisters.
Jane, you love this little stone turtle that the previous owners left in the garden. I mean, you LOVE that turtle. You carry him (her?) all around the yard with you, and you’ve been known to sneak it into the wagon so he can go with you to the park. That poor turtle got sat in the middle of an anthill one day, and you were beside yourself when you found him covered in ants. You quickly picked him up to brush them off, then almost as quickly began crying when you became covered in ants.
You also love to get dirty. We had a huge pile of dirt in our front yard, and you and Lucy both enjoyed helping your dad shovel it into a wheelbarrow and dump it in the backyard. Luce, you stayed as clean as you could, which means you had dirty shoes and socks. Jane, you got as dirty as you could, which means you decided to slide down that hill of dirt. On your stomach. Head first. Repeatedly.
When you can’t be dirty, you like to be naked. You especially like to strip off all your clothes, let yourself out the front door, and run around the yard. Our neighbor, Nick, has had the privilege of enjoying this a couple of times, watching me or your dad chase you down and bring you back inside. Last time we were outside together, he asked you about it, and you told him (no kidding) “sometimes I like to do it when I’m mad at my mom”. What?!
Lucy, you are a hilarious sister. You want to be right, you want to be in control, you want to call the shots. This would be so much easier if Jane would just cooperate with you A couple of weeks ago, the two of you were having a fairly heated debate about whether or not there was a bug or a “bug statue” in the car. I had decided not to get involved. Finally, you said, “Okay, here’s the deal. You think it’s a bug; I think it’s a bug statue. Okay, sweetie?” I love that you’re learning you don’t always have to be right; there doesn’t always have to be a winner; sometimes, it’s okay for you and your sister to think different things.
Luce, you are so capable, insisting on dressing yourself, even down to your shoes and socks. You have some pretty strong opinions about what you like and don’t like, especially when it comes to food. Although you’re eating better these days, you still don’t always want to try new things. The other evening, you helped me make soup; I thought for sure since you had helped you’d try it. I was wrong. No amount of pleading, bribing or cajoling could get you to put that spoon in your mouth. Finally, you looked at me, frustrated I’m sure, and said, “Mom, you know I like food plain. Remember?” An hour later (after you and Jane had been playing, the kitchen had been cleaned, and Daisy had gotten into your untouched bowl of soup), you decided you were ready for a “sample”.
Ladies, I don't want to give you the wrong idea. You're not always particularly pleasant. We have had moments (days, even weeks) of experiencing THE TERRIBLE TWOS. But even then, even when you're at your most frustrating, most whiny, most buggary selves... well, even then, you are still my amazing daughters, my meatballs, my chicken-littles, and I love you very, very much. Even then.
All my love and then some,