The Four Year Post

I know we're super late on this one.  All apologies.  Just browse back through some of our posts from last year if you're interested in the litany of excuses that we used then.  They apply this year, too.  Plus a four-year old.

I (Josh) was preparing to write this post on Walt's actual birthday a week ago, and I was browsing through some of our posts from his first year.  We used to provide monthly updates on his development!  Can you believe that?  So, I got to thinking about how I would go about updating the blog with his development through four years . . . and then I almost cried . . . at work . . . and then some other lawyer called . . . and then he hung up before I got to the part about how Slicky used to be a whole piece of cloth . . . and then I almost cried again.

WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?  Nana keeps reminding me that it only gets worse.  I think she thinks that makes me feel better.  It doesn't.  To the update . . .

I think Ginger would back me up here.  Parenting Walt is like one big negotiation these days.  Negotiate what to eat for breakfast (candy or pancakes and a banana).  Negotiate where to eat breakfast (the kitchen or the sandbox).  Negotiate what to watch during breakfast (assuming we prevail on the previous question, 22 minute episode of Backyardigans or 2 hour movie about animated, talking fish).  And on and on it goes until bed, by which time there have been enough concessions by all parties to have settled every war in history.  Twice.

My most recent breakdown in bedtime negotiations resulted in a tearful but very sincere promise that, "when I (sniff, sniff) grow up (sniff, sniff), I'm never going to make (sniff, sniff) anyone go to bed (sniff, sniff) ever in the whole wide world."  This was preceded by several declarations that I "never make Adam go to bed.  [I] never make Meredith go to bed."  He can be quite the victim when he needs to be.  And he always adds "in the whole wide world" when he's been especially victimized or is trying to stake a particularly grand position.

He's surprisingly good at negotiating with his mother.  Better than me, no doubt.  He has definitely developed a Mommy's boy look already.  And more times than not, it works.  "Mommy, (eye bat, eye bat) can we go to the Pink Palace museum today?"  "Sure, sweetheart.  Let me phone ahead and have them put up the velvet ropes at the door so you can walk right in without getting too cold."  "Thank you, Mommy." 

Thank you, Mommy?  Thank you, Mommy?  How can she fall for that?  Anyway, he's got skills.

Our little Kissinger also seems to be a quick study at most other things, too.  He can use a computer mouse as well as I can.  He loves his computer games.  Putty and Nana got him some new ones for his birthday, and he plays them everyday and could for hours at a time if we'd let him.  Some of them involve phonics, some math and some basic logic and reasoning.  Usually, he scoots right through the screens and levels once we set him up.  It's fun to watch when he doesn't know you are. 

Of course, it's no big news that he's a talker.  I have no idea where he got that.  And, yes, this is the ninth paragraph.  Not the tenth.  How dare you make such accusations!  Anyway, any activity with Walt (or even in the same vicinity as Walt) not involving a TV or computer screen involves you talking to Walt.  Answering Walt's questions.  Assuring Walt that, no, you were not thinking of anything but HIS precious words and deeds at that exact moment.

Well, that may not be entirely fair because often his questions are good ones.  A few recent animal-based questions:

Do penguins have teeth? 

What's the difference between an alligator and a crocodile?

Now, here is where I suggest that all of you fathers of pre-schoolers or soon-to-be pre-schoolers go out and get yourselves an iPhone.  As it turns out, the answers -- "no" and "the shape of their snouts" (with illustrations) -- were just a couple of clicks and no more than 30 seconds away in both instances.  I don't know how my dad did it.  Of course, I also thought that the magic of cruise control was made possible by a flock of ducks attached to the underside of the vehicle.  I guess I do know how he did it.  He made stuff up.

Regardless, I thought those were very astute questions for a three-year old.  He's moved beyond the crazy toddler "how big is God" questions to very good and logical queries.  Let's just say I keep the iPhone charged and near me at all times.

In sum, he's still our sweet boy, but he's growing up fast.  His conversations.  His questions.  His negotiations.  They're all becoming more like ours.  Probably because he is ours, and we love him dearly.