four

Dear Oscar,
I love you at four.

Your birthday party request was for hamburgers at Nana and Papa's house; your guest list included Lucy, TT, me, and Daddy. You asked for a cake with white frosting, piled high with berries, just like the one I made you last year. You wanted chocolate cake for Lucy, and white cake for Teagan, because she doesn't like chocolate cake.

For presents you had your eye on a toy airplane you spotted at Powell's months ago; you also got pink shoes, trains and a train track, a book of silly stories and a book about polar bears, a tiny polar bear and tiny seal, a box of model magic, and a box of juice.

On the way home from Nana and Papa's I asked you if you had a good birthday; you said it was just exactly what you had expected. You didn't really smile when you said it, but I think that was a good thing.

You are sweet in a really natural way, with no effort, like there is no other way to be. You don't play with our hair as much as you used to, but you still love to snuggle.  Every night I give you a magic Eskimo kiss before you fall asleep. You started preschool a couple of months ago and are still easing in, but we had a conference with the teachers where they talked about you and told us some stories, like this one:

A classic preschool game involves making food, offering it to a teacher, the teacher "eats" it and then the child exclaims gleefully that it is actually poisonous. Oscar enjoys the humor of this game and will play along. However, the connection with the other person is the most important aspect for him--if I say that I've learned my lesson and will not eat any more of his poisonous ice cream, he will become very sincere. He says, 'There's no poison. I'm not going to trick you."

 As much as you are starting to like preschool, playing with Lucy or Lucy and Luca or Lucy and Teagan is still your favorite. You would follow Lucy anywhere, and often wait to make your choices until you see what she is choosing.

Sometimes you guys request a record then dance in a circle around the living room, laughing and running until you fall down. It reminds me of something my brother and I used to do at my grandparents' house, and it makes me feel really happy to be a parent.

I love you!

Love,
Mama