You turned 20 months old a few days ago. Your Mama was swamped with work and didn’t get a chance to write your letter on time for your celebrated day. She also didn’t have the time to take notes this month that she can refer to when the time comes to touch on some of the great happenings of the previous month. Therefore when she finally sits down to write something heartfelt or witty about your life, to capture fleeting moments that if left unrecorded, might permanently pass from memory, when she sits down to do this, she must rack her sleepy, work-frazzled brain in order to remember to capture the moments that should, by no means, be left uncaptured.
For there were many beautiful moments, she knows, for sure this month.
And it is just now starting to come to her that she should definitely mention how this month you have been over the top with your kisses and hugs. That you will come up to her at random and say “pu,” (the beginning of the word for kiss in Hungarian), and you will plant a kiss right on her lips, but you will not be satisfied with just one, no, no, no – you will keep coming back for two, three, four, five kisses, all the while repeating the word “pu”! It is true that sometimes you dole out kisses when you want something, like early in the morning when you are snuggled next to Mama and you want to awaken her to nurse and you do this by leaning over and gently kissing her on the lips.
This moment, your Mama can’t even articulate to you how ABSOLUTELY SWEET IT IS.
A lot of the time though, there is nothing you want, but the kiss itself. All day long, you come up, stick your face up saying “pu” and with your mouth open, press your lips to the vicinity of mine. Your face is serious, as you concentrate on this task. This kissing thing is serious business!
Your hugs are just as charming. You come up to us with no other purpose, but to hug us or pat us. How your Daddy loves this! You don’t kiss him as much, because of the roughness of his face, but do you ever hug! You also fling your arm around our necks and hold on as we carry you, returning our hugs and wrapping your legs tightly around us as we hold you. You must know, we LOVE all of this and we will never grow tired of your hugs and kisses.
Cars are now your coveted Number One Toy, replacing the dinosaur, the Lego, and even the Pink Flower, and you seem to be carrying a car around everywhere you go. It is the first thing you look for in the morning and the last thing you think of when you’re falling asleep, crying out one last time “Car!” as you drift off to sleep. When you wake up in the morning, you sit straight up and the first word that you utter is: “Car, car, car!” Each and every morning, whether it is the moment your sleepy eyes open, or a minute later when you are climbing down the stairs (on your own, by the way!), your first words are about your treasured cars. In repeating the word, I think you’re trying to define plural. “Car” is also the collective word for all kinds of vehicles: cars, trucks, fire engines, trains, wagons and tractors. To satiate your interest in cars, we have gone on many Car Adventures this past month. You’ve been to the Fire Station to see fire trucks, you sat on a tractor at the children’s museum and at a farm, rode the semi truck at the mall, and we’ve made many trips to Barnes & Noble to play with your new favorite: the trains.
One of the most delightful surprises of this month happened when your Mama discovered that you are now able to play with the wooden trains independently for a long period of time while she sits and reads a book (as opposed to having to supervise you close up, because you chew everything). This change happened in a mere three weeks’ time. Needless to say, we now make regular trips to Barnes and Noble – so you can play and I can read.
There are other things too, that all of a sudden, you can do. For example, you have figured out how to pick up more than one thing with a single hand. The other day after dinner, your dad and I marveled at how you grabbed one object as you stuck out your index finger to wrap it around the second object and voila, there you were carrying two things in one hand. Congratulations, you’ve saved yourself a second trip! Another new skill, which was a bit less amusing, was when we found out that you now know how to lock doors. One morning, I was giving you some private time in the bathroom (sometimes you like to go without distractions; by the way, you’re totally potty-trained) – and you locked yourself in. Luckily, Daddy was home and was able to save you after a few minutes of working the lock. All I have to say is: don’t do that again.
And as the month progressed, the escapades continued. You climbed the stairs one day, without my knowledge. I was doing dishes and I noticed a couple of minutes later that I didn’t hear you playing in the other room anymore and it was very quiet. MOTHERS EVERYWHERE KNOW THAT QUIET IS NOT GOOD. It isn’t good especially when the child is loose in the house. (As opposed to when they are safely tied down to a chair, a crib, or a table... whatever one’s preferred child-constraining method may be.) :) I started searching for you, calling your name, and what do I hear, if not a singy-song voice coming from upstairs??!
We had been more lax with the gate, because you stopped trying to climb the stairs. Day after day, we (OKAY, I) would take the gate away from the bottom of the stairway, and you seemed to understand that it meant that you should behave just as if it was still there. (I was trying to stretch your boundaries.) But now, I realize that you were actually just waiting for the perfect timing – a lapse in Mama’s attention.
Nobody has ever climbed stairs faster than I at that very moment, as a dozen things you could be getting into was running through my head, and sprinting into our bedroom, what do I find? Smiley you, standing next to the bassinet, singing and playing with the bears that hang from the top. (Yes, your old bassinet is still there. You enjoy it periodically, asking to sit in there, push the music/light buttons, sing and rock yourself. You never did enjoy it as a newborn, so I’m thinking, why not get our money’s worth now, you know?) You came to me right away and as I picked you up and explained that I was worried, because I didn’t know where you were, and that you know you’re not allowed to come upstairs by yourself... you started to pat my back, as if to comfort me: “It’s okay, Mama. I’m okay, see?”
This month has brought bruised and scraped knees, splinters in your feet and bloody lips as some of the natural consequences of your exploits. You hurl yourself off high structures at high speeds. If we’re there to catch you, you tumble into our arms with giggles. AND IF WE’RE NOT THERE TO CATCH YOU, THAT’S OKAY TOO. You don’t seem to care. One of your favorite activities is crossing the distance between the armchair and the ottoman, jumping over the space as we look on in horror. Another one: STEPPING OFF the couch. At the park, you enjoy the bleachers and run back and forth on them. You run at breakneck speed wherever you can.
It is amazing to me how you so fully understand both the English and the Hungarian language. How did that happen? You also like to string words together into sentences. When you want to communicate a lengthy thought, you speak a string of unintelligible words, always with the correct inflection, the correct hand gesture, and the correct facial expression. It’s the cutest thing. Like when there’s a loud noise and you give me your questioning hands and raised eyebrows as you ask “Whaatadoo balagado youlada?” And I answer, as if I fully understood, “Yeah, that was a loud sound, but nothing to worry about, you can go back to playing now.” Or when you can’t quite fit your toy telephone up on the windowsill and you look up at me inquiring: “Mama, dobada youbabaya veedababoo?” Which I totally understand to mean, “Mama, can you help me fit this telephone, so I can roll it back and forth on the windowsill?” We talk this way all day long. Of course, you say many actual words and phrases too, in fact too many to count, in both English and Hungarian. But it is these gibberish sentences that I find so charming. You are not content with a mere word or phrase, but understand that you should be stringing together a bunch of words and phrases. Thus, you mimic the flow of actual conversation.
It has become apparent in the last few months that you love order. You got this from your Mama. It BOTHERS YOU to see something out of order, and you try to return the thing that is amiss to its proper condition. For example, during our walk the other day, when Daddy pushed the empty stroller the WRONG WAY (with front wheels up in the air), you ran back to him and scolded him about this: “Ku mama babyouvadoo!” (That’s the wrong way of pushing that stroller!), and would not let up your finger-pointing protest until he acquiesced. Thank you. You see, your Mama also noticed this wrong way of handling the stroller, and was similarly bothered by it, but was debating whether to mention it. You have made your Mama’s life easier by being the one to speak up. I can just smile, shrug my shoulders, and say: “It bothers THE CHILD.”
When things fall down, you respond with an “Oh-oh!” and pick them up. When you are done with your shoes, they need to go back in the right place. When you are finished with your blocks, you spend long minutes neatly stacking them back in their box. When I turn one of the lamps on/off in the living room, they all must be turned on/off in order. When we are ready to eat, you run to your booster seat at the table, but if the TV happens to be on, you must run back into the living room first to turn it off. When I place your plate of food before you, if I’ve forgotten to give you a fork, you loudly call for your “lla!” (villa – fork) and when you are finished eating, you carefully hand me your plate, your lla, and your water cup. If you notice that your hands are messy from eating (or anything else), you request that they be cleaned. Neatness and order, that’s your cup of tea.
As I’ve been working a lot on the computer, you’ve taken to imitating me by climbing up on the other computer chair, typing with the other keyboard, and using the other mouse (with the computer turned off). You’ll get up there several times a day and start typing away, like you see me doing. As I look across the room, I can see that you imitate me really well, occasionally using the mouse along with the keyboard. I am thankful that you now engage in independent play more, as it has allowed me to get my translation work done while you play beside me.
However, there are times when you are more needy, and at these times, you ask to be picked up over and over, sometimes every 2 minutes. Needless to say, I cannot get any work done this way. At these times, you often hear: “Not now, sweetie, Mama’s working.” But you are remarkably persistent and keep coming back and surely enough, your dogged perseverance always pays off in the end. In the end, I always give in, put off the work, and give you my attention.
This scenario reminded me of that Scripture, where God says that those who are tireless in seeking Him, those who keep knocking relentlessly at heaven’s door and hoping for an affirmative answer, get their requests answered.
(An interesting line of reflection is why this is:
Faith in action, changing the very nature of things?
God’s reward for our fervent diligence, which demonstrates that we are serious about seeking Him?
A God-given ability of ours, the created beings, to change the mind of the Creator?)
I find that this is one of the most remarkable aspects of parenting: not only do we teach you, but you also teach us – or more precisely, God teaches us through you.
Love,
Mama
