Dear Max,
I watched you fall asleep today, snuggled right in the crook of my arm in a rarer-than-rare nap (which I had to lay beside you to induce). In earlier days I’d grumble about those minutes paused from the hustle of the perpetually running list of things needing doing… but now I know (or at the very least, am learning). Now I know that this won’t last forever. That it didn’t last forever. And so today I simply relished your sweaty brow, the way your eyes don’t fully close even when you’re deep asleep (just like Henry), the sleep-smile that formed on your lips, just as your baby-self.
You are, at three (plus), a force to be reckoned with. You are full of joy for life and love for people (once they’ve entered your inner-circle) but oh you have a healthy portion of piss and vinegar, too. Part of it I’m sure is the three thing (which has been – ahem – a challenging age for all of you) but a large part of it is your lowest-on-the-totem-pole ranking which leaves you constantly striving for inclusion and absolutely insistent on being heard. I can speak to this side of you quite adeptly, for I myself still suffer from the youngest-child effect. Thankfully, your brothers have mostly figured out how to deal with the screaming, or even the whacking, which comes out when you feel violated, or excluded, or, worst of all, insulted. I recently said to Henry, “He’s a cute little bugger, isn’t he?” H responded: “Yeah, but he’s not as nice as he looks.” A month or so ago, trying to get you to sleep on a visit to Tacoma, you got out of bed for the umpeenth time and I sternly said, “I don’t like it when you do that, Maxwell.” You looked me right in the eyes and said: “You don’t like it, but I like it, and that’s just the way it goes” It took so much self control not to throttle you, but I digress…
Oh, Max. You are indeed a pistol, but you are so much more, too. You are probably more sensitive to the feelings of others than either of your brothers. You hate seeing others upset (unless you’ve worked diligently to cause the upset yourself). You notice things – birds singing, “I like your hair, mama,” tiny ants, “Is that a new blue skirt?” You are almost always the first one to express appreciation, to say “thank you.” You are careful, thinking through your actions and seeing things like if I tip my plate to get it to the counter, the contents will likely slide off the plate and onto my chest (other siblings who shall remain nameless still struggle with these cause-and-effect things).
Excited about the offer to play baseball with dad, you exclaimed, “I’ll go get my golfing mitts!”
You recently emerged from a strange obsession with both Chip and Dale (the cartoon characters) and California. Not really sure where the California part came from, but they joined somehow in your head and you spoke for months, as your birthday approached, that you would be going to California with Chip and Dale.
You are a great companion, and always the first to insist on accompanying both me and dad anywhere we’re going – grocery store, the dump, and most especially the places we were hoping to go sans kids. When it ends up being just you along for the ride (which happens often, as the allure of errands has certainly worn off for your brothers), you are endlessly chatty and almost always patient and happy.
You are more sensitive than either of your brothers. You have a highly-tuned radar for all things scary, be it the lion that roars in the MGM intro to old Tom and Jerry cartoons or the toy dinosaur at a friend’s house that stomped and roared and sent you in to a minor panic attack. You cover your ears (even if the scary thing has no sound) and run, usually screaming, from the room. This is slowly lessening over time, and you no longer cry about ambulances going by, but I know that at a basic level, this is who you are. It is absolutely fascinating to me to see how different three kids with the same genetic input can be.
You were the first of the kids to break a bone, which surprised all of us, for you are generally both nimble and thoughtful in your actions (a miraculous combination after adjusting to Mo’s opposite traits). We were visiting at Jen’s house in Tacoma and you tried to carry a huge Playmobil firetruck down their steep third-floor stairs, tripping and probably landing on said firetruck. You were upset, but focused for a good long while on the fact that the truck had broken. Turns out, your collar bone was, too. Everyone at the hospital was amazing, and you were surprisingly at ease considering the situation in general and your fearfulness in particular. Your one moment of near-freak came when they talked about the x-ray room, saying they’d take a picture of your skeleton. You looked at me with terrified eyes and said, “but there aren’t any ghosts or witches are there?!” Apparently your knowledge of skeletons was limited to Halloween costumes. But you rallied, and were such a brave boy at the hospital that Nonna insisted “I’m buying him that damn firetruck tomorrow!”
One of the new developments of the past few months is Max the Clown. You’ve started trying consciously to make us (especially Henry and Morgan) laugh. Throwing “poop” and “fart” into conversations is generally successful, as are your “funny faces,” seen below.
Also fascinating to watch are the relationships that have developed between you and those brothers of yours. Though Mo still generally thinks of you as a pest (and you generally are, to him), Henry really goes out of his way in a completely endearing attempt to include you, and keep you appeased. He talks to you in a sing-songy voice and tries to convince you that what he’s offering is the coolest thing there is (and just happens to be the thing he doesn’t want). Although you’re less apt to destroy their creations simply for the sake of destruction (that was a fun phase), you still mainly exist on the periphery of their play. Some days I worry about your being the third wheel, but I remember quickly that two years is huge, developmentally, and that as the days go by it’s becoming more and more Three Musketeers-esque.
And now you are three. In the last year you’re learned to peddle a bike, dress yourself, eat an ice cream cone without a catastrophe, climb over the fence, stop napping (wah!), and go to school without tear-shedding (only took a month to get there)…
We did a family party with Grandma and Grandpa and Dylan and then you specifically requested a friend party with a superhero theme. Nonna saved mama’s arse by sewing capes for all your buddies (plus two ridiculously cute tiny ones for Chip and Dale) and they were a roaring success.
The three year-old superhero obsession lives on
One of my favorite developments of this year was the beginning of friendships. You and Kelton (and Baxter and Sam and Owen) have shifted from the parallel play of two year-olds to the cooperative “I’ll be Batman and you can be Superman, ok?” play of real kids. At your last playdate at Kelton’s house, you showed up in jeans and he decided that he wanted to wear jeans just like you. So he went to his room and changed.
Your own Big Wheel! Now you don’t have to fight with Morgan every. damn. day about who gets to ride the one HE got when he turned three! (Except now you just fight about who rides which one…)
Superhero Chip and Dale taking a snooze in Henry’s cleats
While it is so incredibly cliche to say “I can’t imagine our family without you” – I truly can’t imagine our family without you. I’m finishing this weeks and weeks after I first started, and you’ve suffered through some strange summer flu bug for the past twenty-for hours, vomiting over and over and over. You went to bed before we ate dinner tonight, and it felt so strange to sit around our table without your cheery little self (getting up thirty seconds after we sit down, exclaiming “I have to peeeeeee!” like it just hit you, a total emergency. Seriously, you do this every night. It is so aggravating and yet so funny.)
I love you, Maxy. WE love you. And I am so thankful I get to be your mama.
xoxox
The Wild Rumpus 