Happy 4th Birthday, Porter!

Hey Buddy,

Happy 4th Birthday! I am not even joking when I say that you being this big seemed like about 10 minutes ago. And all of a sudden we are here. At four.

This year spilleth over with awesomeness. And fun. And learning. And cuteness. And screaming. Still with the screaming. But I am getting ahead of myself…

Over the course of the past year, your father and I have compromised and caved and negotiated and just plain given in in ways we never thought was humanly possible. Why do I bring this up? Basically, I need to make clear that although well-meaning and chock full of effort, your father and I have done little more than provide gentle guidance and kept you away from sharp objects. And when it comes to your more major accomplishments of the past year, we are able to take credit for NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THEM. I can pretty much only lay claim to the fact that we kept you fed, clothed and periodically intervened to keep you from harming the occasional passers-by.

Let’s take for example potty training. As of this year, you are officially and completely D to the O to the N to the E. Done, baby. Why? Because one day you just woke up and decided as much. Period. End of story. Although I made a very conscious effort to not over-negotiate this issue, we reached a couple of stages where I REALLY wanted to help nudge things along. HAH. Double HAH! Will I ever learn? Probably not.

Academically, things are really starting to take off. You have begun the early stages of reading books, which generally consists of asking us to read you the same book about 57 times in a row, memorizing it, then read it to us as though you had just discovered sliced bread. I remember Stella doing this, and how exciting it was to see such a huge transitional step in both aptitude and interest. Along with the reading is also the writing. You still hold a pencil as though you are trying to strangle out it’s last breath, but you are able to form somewhat decipherable letters and have been doing some pretty impressive work with the stencil set at your school. (To clarify: the stencil that fits perfectly over an 8 1/2 X 11 page and not that ridiculous and confusing one that spilled over the edges of the paper – the one that drives you to waves of rage – what were those people thinking?) What is really starting to come into focus, however, is your firm grasp of numbers. You, are repeatedly holding up your fingers and counting different ways to add up various values. Last night you counted up three separate combinations adding up to the number 8. Whereas your sister is practically reading novels at age 6, you will no-doubt have mastered your times-tables by the time you reach Kindergarten.

Often times when I am trying to keep you occupied when we are out and about, or just at home and I need to keep you from climbing the walls, I’ll give you my little point-and-shoot camera and let you snap pictures to your heart’s content. It has even gotten to the point where whenever we go to a doctor’s office you immediately begin rummaging around in my purse so you can start taking pictures (see: Trigger Word discussion in upcoming paragraph). I finally downloaded a whole set of them and after some minor tweaking and editing I think you might be ready for your first gallery installation.

(click photo to see entire set)

Health-wise, we have had a pretty good run of it this year. Your ear tubes are almost completely out – one is out entirely, and the other we are trying to irrigate out with daily ear rinses of hydrogen peroxide. A ritual that is quickly losing it’s luster – no matter how many fanciful treats or outings I promise you. You are turning out to be insanely coordinated and quite a good dancer, I might add. I am still so completely amazed at how your body is growing into such a distinctively male physique. You have defined little arm muscles, a narrow waist, and one of the most adorably pinchable butts on the planet. I know, eww gross.

Moving on. Let’s talk a little about the Trigger Word, shall we? Myself, your father, the director of your pre-school and even your sister have become acutely fine-tuned to the land-mine we now refer to as The Trigger Word. The best way to sum this up is to say that our household lives as though we are trapped in an If You Give A Mouse A Cookie book. All we have to do is inadvertently utter one seemingly innocuous word or phrase and the next thing we know we have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be interrupted without risk of gallons of screaming. Everything in your brain has an association pattern: that certain kind of granola bar can only be eaten after you have carried it in that one backpack, or that pair of shorts can only be worn with that specific shirt and THEN you only wear THAT combination to school, but NEVER on NON-school days, and on and on and on it goes. There are rules and sequences and patterns and expectations that, coupled with iron-willed determination means that mentioning the Trigger Word is one of the highest offenses one can commit in this household.

Admittedly, I have spent countless opportunities whimpering about your intensity level always being cranked up to def-con bazillion, I am however starting to become more contemplative about your temperament and what it all means in the scope of my parenting world. Our mantra over the last year or so has been: Whatever It Takes. Basically, we spend a lot of time herding you through the emotional hurricane – just getting all of us to the other side, even if it means compromising beyond any reasonable expectation. Even Stella has realized the futility of trying to win on principle. And that is saying a lot.

More and more lately, however, we are trying to recognize those moments where we can take a stand, and hold you accountable for your own actions. But one of the biggest things we also have to do is figure out who you are. That might sound a little or even a lot strange, but really, the way I see it, toddlers are just cute little people with crazy suits on. Underneath all that crazy is you. So what we are trying to figure out is what part is the crazy suit and what part we are going to have to negotiate for the long haul. I have a feeling your intensity and drive are going to be something we will reckon with forever. But I have to wonder if some of this volatility will fall away over the course of time. Did I say wonder? I meant hope-and-pray-with-every-fiber-of-my-entire-being.

Because you know what Porter? You are awesome. And no matter how much I harp on The Angry, there is so much of The Cute that I can’t even begin to describe. This Cute of yours brings us joy and fun and silliness. And it is this counter-weight that keeps us all from the brink of insanity.