Sunday, March 11, 2012


I am pretty sure that three is the birthday that marks the transition from toddler to preschooler. I am also pretty sure that I'm not ready for this. This is what three looks like...

For a kid who came into this world screaming and kicking, he is the happiest, most-carefree, loveable little guy we could have possibly imagined.

Except for first thing in the morning. He is a total grouch when he wakes up bleary eyed and tousle headed and ravenously hungry. It seems that we spend an inordinate time each morning pandering to his various demands and begging him to please please PLEASE remember your inside voice! (Though I am pretty sure he doesn't have one.)

He runs too fast and jumps from things that are too high. He has injured himself far more times than Jack ever has. He does incredibly stupid and dangerous things with an invincible smile on his face.

People kept asking us what Sawyer would want for his birthday. We told them all anything. It doesn't matter, he would like anything. That's just the kind of kid he is.

He has somehow managed to pick up habits like counting and recognizing letters and sounds. He loves to be read to and will eagerly snuggle into your lap with his blanky and thumb to hear a story.

He will often go off into the playroom or the backyard and invent some fantastic make believe game which might involve costumes or dishes or tools from the garage. Sometimes he sings to himself while he is playing. I love it when I catch that moment.

I don't understand how the preschool hierarchy works, but Sawyer is always willing to share with kids who are older than he is, including his brother. He does not care much at all for younger kids, but seems to use his sharing leverage with bigger kids to worm his way into an older circle. If you ask him who his friends are he will list off Jack's friends. I think he thinks he is much older than three.

Sawyer is definitely more easygoing than Jack and quick to find the positive in any situation. We ditched him with Grandma last weekend so we could take Jack skiing and rather than protesting or whining about the injustice, Sawyer simply got excited to eat grapes and yogurt with Grandma. When I caught Jack taunting him about not getting to go with us, Sawyer quickly replied, "But Jack, I get to go to Grandma's house! She has juice!"

He still has remnants of a somewhat German sounding accent and says "mine" for "my" as in "I want mine blanky." It's as charming as it sounds. He is all teeth when he talks. It is impossible not to lovingly imitate him from time to time.

Sawyer is a total mama's boy who will do anything for my attention and affection. He manages to weasel his way into our bed almost every night and I wake up to his thumb sucking noises and his little fingers rubbing my hair.

And when I think back to Jack at three, I marvel at the differences. Two boys, two parents, two sets of DNA, two beds in the same house. How could they be so unique? But then again, Sawyer made it clear from the start that he was running his own agenda. He is exactly who he is, brother or no brother. And we do love him so much, breakfast grouchies and all.

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