My dearest J2,
You have gotten less than regular update letters, and for that I apologize. I have a little file in my brain that collects the things that I would write in a letter to you, if, in fact, I ever sat down to do it. So that should most definitely count for something. But let's knock this out before this blog becomes an explosion of posts dedicated to all the summer fun that I plan on having.
I am sorry to report that your approval rate in the public mommy opinion poll has slipped in recent months. Your smile could win absolutely anyone over, but you are so hard. So very very hard. You love to run away, play with your food, climb on the table, open up cupboards, and put dog food in places where it shouldn't be. Your dad and I are simultaneously looking forward to and dreading vacation as it means a 3+ hour plane ride with you.
You do quite a bit of talking, which is often overshadowed by Little Miss J who is a talker extraordinaire. Most of your talking is in Korean, and thankfully your sister is pretty helpful as my interpreter. In my defense, my Korean is actually gotten good enough that I probably have the vocabulary equivalent to that of a two year old. My pronunciation, however, continues to leave something (or everything) to be desired.
You watch Gangnam Style ad nauseam, and once your dad was so tired in the middle of the night that when you asked for it, he actually obliged by letting you watch is iPhone. You love to dance. You love to play kitchen. This morning as I left for work, both you and your sister were in the living room stirring balls in the All Clad saucepans. You are particular about your clothes and will tell me "other one," if I pick a shirt that you do not feel like wearing that day. You can identify most body parts, in Korean of course. You will, without fail, put just about everything in your mouth, but if it isn't rice, you will more often than not simply chew it up and spit it out all. over. the. house. Carl can be found trailing right behind you literally (not figuratively) picking up the pieces.
Your independence is a force to be reckoned with. I try to prevent you from falling off the carousel horse and you push my arms away. I keep you safe in the pool and you struggle to be free and drown yourself. I watch you feed yourself all the while trying to hold my Type A personality at bay as food gets on the floor, in your hair, on your clothes, etc. I hope you like wearing a life jacket because between the lake and the myriad of fish ponds at the cabin, I have a feeling you will be wearing it 24/7.
You are the apple of my eye. If you would let me, I would scoop you up and kiss your little face all the time. You run with reckless abandon wherever you go, as I watch anticipating the face plant that may not happen today or tomorrow, but will inevitably happen. You are stubborn. You are sweet. You idolize your big sister, and you are always doing something. Leaving for work each morning is not as bad, when you blow kisses at me from the window. When I come home from work, you greet me at the window and then follow me to my bedroom, where you climb into bed, get under the covers, and immediately demand an iPhone. Every day I look forward to seeing your smile and hearing your little voice.
You are my happy, sweet, funny, stubborn little buddy and I love you to pieces.
Love,
Umma
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