your turn, shiny star

You like to wear a gold Mardi gras necklace and a green headband, and also your new backpack.  You cried because I made you take off the backpack when you asked to sit on the toilet to pee.

You pull most of the clean hand towels from the drawer, to cover Buzz Lightyear or dinosaurs lined up along the top basement step for a nap, Buzz beez.  Di-roar beez.  Night night Buzz.  Night night di-roar.

Your shoes are often on the wrong feet, because we don't argue with “I do it.”  Your cheeks are usually flushed and full of cherub loveliness.  Your belly still folds over the top of your diaper like an overstuffed envelope.

You say “yo ho ho” when you pretend to be a pirate, and you use strong words like you own them, no and stop and move and mine.  You could talk about helicopters all day long, and you call your brother "Da-duck."

Sometimes I feel like I fail to acknowledge your amazingness, Tollie.  Your brother’s firsts were, mostly, the firsts. And it’s not that yours are less amazing, but they're different.  We don’t document them quite the same way, but we did celebrate when you saw the Viper and said “nice car” and when you pooped on the potty and when you initiated your own version of the Red Light Green Light game. Your brother was there for each of those things, and his pride and love for you matched ours.  So although your accomplishments may come second, you do have an extra cheerleader, another teacher, a big brother who thinks you’re amazing, mostly, too.

*Tolliver started school today. His teacher, the same one Celia and Tucker had for Parents Day Out, reports that after a few minutes of crying, he banged drums and fed new friends plastic play food and splashed around at the water table.  He was all smiles when we picked him up.  First day photos to follow.