John Loves Fords

 Dear John,

Mrs. Ford and I have really wondered (and worried) about how you would react to the Ford's new baby.  You love your Fords so much, and you are so jealous when your mama holds other children, how would you react to a Ford baby in your mama's arms?

The answer: amazingly well!  Apparently your love of all things Ford, including the Mr. and Mrs., the dogs and the fish, extends to a certain little Ford as well.  When I sat to hold her, you did object... in the sense that you wanted to hold the baby!

Once you were in my lap with the baby and holding her, you were just fine.  The tenderness with which you held her was absolutely adorable.

 

The other bonus from the Ford's visit was that Mrs. Ford watched you completely starve yourself at dinner because you don't like most dinner foods... in fact, you really only like breakfast foods.  We also showed her the picture of you eagerly waiting for a pizza (the only dinner food your daddy cooks that you like) to bake, which told her you really were hungry in the evenings.  So in her special Mrs. Ford way, she said, "You know, you can make breakfast for dinner...."

 

Your daddy, having truly never thought of this, made pancakes the very next night.

It was your first "happy plate" on a not pizza night ever.  And happy plates mean M&Ms.  You were thrilled!  "M's!  M's!  M's for me!  Me get M's!"

And that's why she is still "your" Ford.  And I bet it's why you didn't mind sharing her, or me, one bit.

Love,
Mom

Game Night

 Dear John,

We have started including you in our family game nights/afternoons.  I remember your sister playing some games, like Don't Spill the Beans at two and figured you were about ready for the same.

I have to admit that I have been very much surprised by your ability to play some very fine motor driven games.  We tried both Topple and Hanging Monkies (which I swear is how they spell it on the box... from Mexico).

 

You not only could manage the turn taking processes of the two games, but were fully able to use one hand to balance a circular topple piece on the wobbling platform and hang the "monkies" from the tree and each other.

Very impressive, I think, for a not-quite two and half year old!

Love,
Mom

Good-Bye Jack

Dear John,

There it is.

I called you "Jack" yesterday and you said to me, "No, me John."

And then when the Fords came over, I asked again what you would like to be called and while you did tell the Fords to call you "Batman" you also said, plain as day, "My name is John."

I get it.

I'm letting go of the Jack.  The Jack of Hearts Halloween costume is no longer in the works.

You are John.  I named you John and it's a really nice name.

But I liked "Jack" better.

I have this secret plan to go back to calling you "Jack" at some point.  But for now, to help the world see your preference and to give you the respect of following your simple wish, I call you "John."

Because you asked and because I love you.  And because baby boys have to be allowed to grow up.  And mamas who don't get that raise really terrible men.

So for the man you will become, here's to John.

Love,
Mama

Sydney Wants to Play at Mama's School. Jack does, too!

Dear Jack,

Yes, I still call you "Jack."  Most of the time, anyway.  Lately, your dad and I have been using both "Jack" and "John" and you respond equally well to either.  But in my heart, you are still "Jack" right now.

I keep telling myself this has nothing to do with the Halloween costume I already have picked out....

In any case, sweet boy, I took you and your sister and Andrew up to my school this past weekend and that's mostly the real point of this story.

Sydney and Andrew really did their own thing and you did your own thing the entire time we were there (and that at the end, you will see is the other half of the real point).  You found my Superhero ABC book (well, the copy that lives at school, you have a copy at home as well) and looked for your favorite superheroes and your favorite letters.  Which was nice since in addition to being John these days, you are also Batman and Superman and Superhero Good Guy and Bubbles (she's a Power Puff girl, of course).

You played with the cars and did not seem to notice at all that some of those cars and sets used to live in your room.  (Whew.)

You played with the dollhouse and I'm pretty sure that's your dolphin playing in the house there with you, by the way.

The same dolphin that had to come back to school the next day.  While you are asserting your independence by claiming your own name, you are also in the midst of an absurd copying phase.  I don't care what your sister says, you have to repeat it.  If she likes pink.  You like pink.  She thinks it's hot in the car.  You think it's hot in the car.  Her nose hurts.  Your nose hurts.  And so on Monday, when she had to bring a stuffed animal in the car, you had to bring a stuffed animal in the car.  When her stuffed animal had to visit daycare, your stuffed animal had to visit daycare.  And so when she told me her stuffed animal couldn't be left alone in the car, you didn't even have to tell me; I just knew.

So I took both stuffed animals in to school and took pictures of their adventures there.

Happily, when I accidentally left both stuffed animals at school, your sister's dire claims of never getting to sleep without her stuffed animals were uttered after you had already peacefully gone to sleep without yours.  Otherwise I am sure that although this dolphin doesn't even live in your room, much less your bed, you would have never been able to get to sleep without it.

Mostly, your dad and I are thrilled that your sister doesn't mind all that copying and that despite constantly repeating every opinion out of her mouth, when it comes right down to it, you are happy to play apart from her, to let her have her own friends, and to just be your own little person.

John.  Jack.  Superman.  Batman.  Baby Bamboo Shark.  Bubbles.  Superhero Good Guy.  You know, YOU.

Love,
Mom

A Rose By Any Other

Dear Superhero,

I did let you try out being "John" at school.  And honestly, your teacher said you respond very well to the name.  But somehow going from "Jack" to "John" for you gave your sister this idea that names were malleable and so she asked if her teacher could call her "Princess."

Without missing a beat, you then piped up from the backseat, "No John.  I be Superhero."

So there you go.

Love,
Mom

My Son, John

Dear Jack,

You and I have been playing this game for the last few months where I write "Jack" or "Mama" or "Sydney" or "Daddy" and you say which family member's name it is.

At the same time, your exposure to shows like Word World and Super Why as well as the curriculum at your day care have taught you about half of your letters.  Your favorite letter is O.  It was the first one you learned and you will pick it out from a group of letter magnets and find it in other words and excitedly exclaim, "O!  O!"

About a month ago, I wrote "Jack" for you.  You said something about an O.  I told you there was no O in "Jack" but there was an O in "John" and I wrote "John" for you.  You immediately pointed to the name John and said, "That's me!"

In the last month, I have played several name games with you and really paid attention to which letters you like.  Your favorites now are O, N, and J.  In fact, today, while I was actually checking to see which letters you knew so I could take a picture, you watched me pull the ones you knew to the left side of the fridge and keep the others on the right side.  You took your O, N, and J and put them in a special place on the table.  I had to go get them to take the picture I wanted.

 I have also asked you if you want to be called "Jack" or "John" and almost without fail, you have answered "John" every time.

It sounds so ridiculous that a two year old would chose what to have people call him based on the letters in his name.  So I took a video of the latest of these conversations, just to prove it to myself and a future you that it was how it happened.

In previous conversations like this, you have pointed to "Jack" and said, "Yous like that, Mommy" and then pointed to "John" and said, "I's like this, Mommy."

The bottom line, though, is this.  I'm not ready to stop calling you Jack.  I'm not ready to call everyone we know and tell them to stop calling you Jack.  I am, however, ready to talk to your daycare teacher and see if she will help you go by John at school.  If you never answer when she calls you and get tired of the letter O in a week or two and move on to the letter C, or A, or K, then it's a small test area to work with.

But if the school experiment is a complete success and it makes you happy to be called "John," then I will let your other friends and family know and then let them decide.  My family called me "Becky" when I was a baby and to most of them, I still am "Becky" even though I am "Rebecca" to the rest of the world.

I think even if you do decide to be "John" at school, those of us who have known you since birth can stick with "Jack" if we want to.

Either way, you'll be my son, John, my Jack-a-baby, my Baby Jack, my John Patrick, my sweet boy.

Love,
Mom

Pictures at the Zoo

Dear Jack,

After the hottest summer in recent history, it was so nice to have 78-85 degree temperatures, especially just in time for Labor Day.  It seemed criminal to not take advantage, and so we went to the zoo.

 

You loved seeing all of the animals.  You were particularly taken by a loud monkey and just stared at him, pointing for five minutes.

 

You got to see fish, too, of course, which was a big win for you.

 

But the thing that is going to make this trip memorable is that you really got into taking pictures.

  

I took pictures of you and you took pictures of me.

 

You took pictures of the water.

  

You took a lot of pictures of the ground.

And of the trees.

And every now and then, you even got some animals in your pictures.

I felt a little sorry for all of the mamas who were left, as we walked by with you clicking away, trying to explain to their five and six and seven year olds why they couldn't have a camera.

But you had a great time.

Love,
Mom