3 years...

3 years ago on this very day my water broke while I was taking a nap after demolishing some mac & cheese.  But to hear more about that, click here, because that's not what this letter is about.  No, on the eve of your 3rd birthday I thought I'd FINALLY update this blog for you.  A little bit, at least.

That picture above is you and I at Party City, where we've been twice in the last week getting prepared for your birthday party.  Which we just had to cancel.  Well, not cancel, postpone.  Your parents picked the coldest day in Southern California's recent history for a pool party: a high of 48 degrees with a 70% chance of rain.  I have lived here for almost 10 years and have never come across a day like that.  BLAST!  Good thing you can't quite grasp the concept of days/weeks yet because I keep telling you your party is in 3 more days weeks.  

You're still busy at Sports Class.  That's you on the right passing the ball to Coach Derek while the other Jackson in class watches.  Your cousin Rinnie is joining us for the next session of sports, and it will be nice to have a girl in the class, even if she does chase butterflies like I did in athletic situations.  

You got into preschool!  That's right, you "got in" because I applied back in May and just found out.  Because getting into preschool around here prepares parents for the college admissions process WAY, TOO, EARLY.  But we're very happy with the school you'll be attending full-time in the fall (well, from 9am-12:45am Monday-Friday).  What will mommy do with herself?!  If you say exercise I swear to God...

Well there you are, my two favorite guys.  I can't believe you're turning 3 tomorrow, and at the same time I can't believe you've only been in my life for three years.  I don't remember what it was like without you.  You are my little best friend, my teacher, and the coolest 3 year old I know : )

Sports Class

We just started something called "Multi-Sports" and your first class was today. I have to preface this letter by saying the following: I am not one of those mothers who think their child is an angel 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. (I'm not judging mothers that do, but recommending they seek therapy.) Of course, I am your biggest fan, but I will always be honest with you and everyone else. That said... YOU WERE THE BEST KID IN THE CLASS!!!

Just look at you attentively listening to Coach Derek, little hands behind your back.  While the other kids were running away from their parents or throwing tantrums (not judging, not judging, been there, done that), you followed every direction, cheered for your classmates, shared, gave the Coach high fives and impressed us all with your soccer skills.    

Coaches pet.  I am so proud of you, that I rocked this shirt your dad surprised me with last night...

HELL YEAH I'M YOUR MOM!  (I know nothing about soccer.)

You bowl now.

A couple of times I was afraid the ball wouldn't actually reach the pins.

Strut strut

This past weekend, you and I took a very big step together. We took our first mommy/baby class! Did we learn sign language? No. Did we sing songs together? No. Did you get to splash around in a pool? No. What DID we do then? Mommy worked out.

To be fair, it wasn't exactly that one-sided. The class is called Stroller Strides - and it's pretty much what it sounds like... you're in your stroller, and I am striding. Strutting? I don't know. I'm working out! Losing my baby weight! Getting toned! In last place running up the stairs!

However, there are perks in it for you too. Some of the moms have been going to class for years, and they told me their kids look forward to seeing their fellow stroller-riding friends. Point is, if I do this long enough, you might think I'm doing it for YOU. Mother of the Year Award - HELLO!

You were enjoying class actually. Up until one baby started to cry. Then another chimed in, and suddenly it was like a crying baby remix. The teacher ran around, frantically waving her arms and singing songs in your faces. You looked right past her, straight at me, and your face said, "put down that jump rope woman and tend to me." I think this class will teach you patience. See, perks for all!

I promise that the next class we take will benefit you more directly. Like, mommy/baby yoga. I really need to work on my flexibility.

Peanuts and Cracker Jacks

Baseball has been a big part of your life so far. The season began shortly after you were born and now it's October, post-season and World Series time, and you are almost 7 months. That's a lot of baseball! Yankees baseball, to be exact. I'm don't think you missed a single Yankee's game this season. You sat in your dad's lap and watched their very first game in their new stadium. You watched Mariano Rivera get his 500th save. Derek Jeter get hit number 2,722. Melky Cabrera hit for the cycle. Walk off after walk off win. You watched the Red Sox sweep the Yankees, and the Yankees sweep the Red Sox. And, bittersweetly (just made up that word), you watched the Minnesota Twins get murdered by the Bronx Bombers all season long... poor Twinkies, you thought.

As you became a miniature sized fan of the sport, I did too. Only I'm not miniature sized, I'm a big person. I had always loved baseball. Going to Mets, Yankees and Twins games as a kid, Brewers and Dodgers games as an adult. The simplicity and pace of the sport, the hot dogs and the peanuts and the ice cream in the little helmets and the beer. But this season I really didn't have a choice... fate had it that I was going to watch every single Yankee game with you and your dad. And suddenly, I knew a lot more about the sport than I ever thought I would. Ask me what a sac fly is, or an unassisted triple play. Ask me who sings "God Bless America" in Yankee Stadium during the 7th inning stretch. What are boo birds? No seriously, what are they, no idea.

So I guess the purpose of this letter is to plead with you... please play baseball. If you choose football, I'll be one of those moms cheering when everyone else cheers with no real idea why. People have tried to explain that sport to me, and studying their hairline becomes more interesting than what it is they're saying. But if you choose baseball, I'll have the opportunity to become a psychotic mom fan... screaming at the umps and the coaches and the other mom's who are cheering with no real idea why. Isn't that every kid's dream? A mom who makes the evening news because her passion for her child's sport leads her to key another mom's car? I will be that mom for you, Jackson. You're welcome, son.