Dear Chipmunk: 30 Months of Splendiforous Life

Dear Chipmunk,

Yes, you’ve officially been alive for 2.5 years.  Seems like it is time to write you another letter.  What can I say?  You’re a pain in my ass right now.

There.  Don’t ever tell me I wasn’t honest with you.

You’re basically like a lit firecracker who gets doused to sleep once every 24 hour cycle, only to wake up each morning and do it all over again.  You’ve got a quick fuse.  Where you inherited this is a matter of debate that would involve generations above mommy and daddy, and that can’t be done in a blog post.  The point is, that you’re a little, curly-headed firecracker.  Quick to scream, quick to hug, quick to break out into dance.  When you get a hold of yourself enough to make it through more than five-minute increments, I see a very bright future ahead of you.

It takes one time, one exposure, and you’re on it.  Hence, the reason you’ve already picked up every sassy saying known to mankind.  You’re well versed on “just kidding”, “actually”, “whatever”, and “oh, my god”.  There is nothing so cute than to see your little cherub-cheeked face see something and proclaim, “oh, my god, this be so cuuuute!”  Totally perturbing and a little unnatural, since you’re only two-and-a-half, of course, but yet I’m tickled for its entertainment value.

Plotting. Always, plotting.

Problem with you being so quick on the draw, however, is that you’re so quick on the draw.  Your little mind races so fast, it even makes your poor sister tired.  Just the other morning, Mouse came out of her room in the morning and asked, “Why come we are sisters but she doesn’t be like me?”  When I asked her to elaborate on what it mean to “be like me”, Mouse responded, “You know, quiet ever.”

Well, that unquiet mind is very busy thinking of important things.  As I feel a lot of guilt for your middle child status, I’ll preserve some interesting tidbits about your life and thinking lately…

Beyoncé’s song, according to you is “All The Single Lettuce”.  To which you of course ask, “Does she really like salad?”  In your Chipmunk-speak this actually comes out something more like, “Do she reeedy naik saiyad?”  Well, I couldn’t tell you if Beyoncé really likes salad, sweetie.  She writes a mean song about lettuce though, doesn’t she?

Upon looking at your brother’s, ahem, man parts… you declared, “Look mommy, like a baby salami!  It is so cuuute!”  Huh.  So that whole sausage/cured meat/male genitalia association is inborn in us?

Speaking of… you really don’t like meat that much.  (Inappropriate transition? I figure you won’t read this until you’re an adult anyways, right?)  Except chicken. You’re a fan of chicken.  Still, it seems like you’d be perfectly happy to eat veggies and starches.  I can’t decide whether I should secretly hope you’ll never become vegetarian or not.  If I really hope it, I’m pretty sure it’ll happen.  It is very hard to be a gluten-free, dairy-free, vegetarian household.  We might need more chickens, because I’m pretty sure we’d only subsist on eggs.  And salad.

You randomly break into dance, at all times of day, in all places.  I cannot tell you how much this tickles strangers.  They think you’re dancing specifically for them, when you and I both know that you’re dancing for yourself.  I honestly wonder if this will become a metaphor for your life.  Your pure joy in your world explorations seems to draw people in.  Use that for good and don’t become a scary cult leader, ok?  Ok.

On the topic of being quiet… The other day, Mouse and I mentioned Down syndrome.  I can’t remember the specifics, just that some people have brothers with Down syndrome, and some don’t.  Just like some people have sisters and some people don’t.  Five minutes later, I was trying to talk to you both, and you immediately shushed me, and admonished us.  “Shhh.  My wittle brudder have Down sindrone.  You hafta keep it down.”  Then you went tiptoeing around the house, shushing all of your stuffed animals in the same way.

You and your sister are two peas in a pod right now, it gives me the warm fuzzies.  I love listening to your conversations at night after Daddy has put you to bed.  Tonight I listened behind the door and it went something like this:

Mouse: “Hey, let’s go back to the pumpkin patch tomorrow, ok?”
Chipmunk: “Ok, but I be scared of the sheep.”
Mouse: “Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand, ok?”
Chipmunk: “OK!  Sometimes?  I have boogers on my hand… But that’s okay.”
Mouse: “Mom says you’re not supposed to eat those, but you can.”
Chipmunk: “I like burgers and fries.”
Mouse:  (Snoring…)

Then I wondered if you had Beyoncé in your head while you fell asleep, dreaming of burgers and fries and singing, “All the single lettuce, all the single lettuce, oh oh oh, oh oh oh…”  At least you’ve got your marriage priorities set, that’s more than I can say for most.  Well, I’m not even sure about that really.  We’ll get into the whole gender/sexuality/entertainment industry/race dynamics stuff later.  Maybe when you turn three.  In the meantime, enjoy your salads.

Love,

Your Mother

What a free spirit, your mullet, blowing in the breeze…