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We’ve been making an “outgoing” chart to help Sam, in social situations, to be more, well, social. She’s been doing a good job, and recently completed said chart so as a reward, we’re going to Fairyland in Oakland. This morning, we were talking about the day and she said she was going to go as a fairy. Because it’s fairy land. Mom asked what Mom and Dad should go as.

Dear Sam, I’m writing this to you on my 38th birthday. This morning when I got you up out of your crib, you asked, “What day is today?” I replied, “Monday.” Then you said, “It’s Mommy’s birthday! Happy Birthday, Mommy!” And you gave me a hug. Best. Birthday. Present. Ever. A few hours later, we were running errands on foot and you wanted me to carry you, and I was already lugging two bags of groceries, and you wouldn’t wear your sun hat, and you kept telling me to take mine off, and you cried and complained for the last two blocks.

Dear Sammy, For your newsletter describing your 30th month of life, I’ve been collecting phrases that we’ve heard around the house. These are the ones that make your Dad and me grin, or gasp, or sometimes grimace. But in each case, we look at each other and mouth “did she just say that?” Here you go. Soundbites from a 2½ year-old girl: “Mommies don’t go to work. Daddies do.” “I’m not a big girl yet.

Dear Sammy, Dad and I are a few weeks late with this newsletter. You (and the people we share this letter with) will have to forgive us: your 28th month was a difficult one"not because of you, but because this past month saw the death of a longtime family member: our beloved kitty Camus. I’m going to start there. He died near the end of the month, but his death has colored the entire month.

Dear Sam, When I put you down for your afternoon nap just now, you sang along to your bedtime song “Samantha, fais dodo.” I was trying not to smile too hard, because, you know… it’s nap time and you have a hard enough time as it is settling down to rest. When we finished the song, you exclaimed “Sammy did it!” After I left the room, you reprised the song, and then added a few rounds of “Frère Jacques,” followed by a rousing rendition of “Pop Goes the Weasel.

I wrote a long and detailed trip report on my recent SIGGRAPH trip for work. I was figuring to simply copy-paste it here, but in review, it seems a little too Linden-centric, so over the next couple of days I’ll try to figure out how best to excerpt it/restructure it to bring it out here. I was embarrassed that Carolyn had (until just now) written my two most recent blog entries and even so they were a month apart.

Dear Sammy, Daddy was going to write your letter this month, but since a) he’s sick, and b) he’s working for SIGGRAPH at San Diego this week, and c) you’re giving me a nice long nap this afternoon, I decided that I would start it. So, hi Sammy! Happy 22 months old! You’re two months away from two years old. Technically. In practical terms, you’re right smack dab in the middle of the Terrible Two’s.

Dear Sammy, I have a lot to tell you about this past month, but first let me tell you a little anecdote that has completely charmed your father and me. We still end your day with a reading of Time for Bed (by Mem Fox)“a little story book we received when you were born. We’ve been reading it to you since you were about 4 months old. Each page has a little rhyme about a parent animal telling the baby animal that it’s time for sleep.

Dear Sam, April has always been one of my favorite months, as it usually heralds the arrival of spring: longer, lighter days, breezy weather, delicate daffodils, and peeping baby frogs. Academics, however, like to quote T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land” and proclaim that “April is the cruelest month.” While it is true that the last month of the academic semester usually entails a mountain of grading, I always welcomed April gladly because it meant that the end of tedium and the beginning of May freedom was near.

Carolyn has posted a warm post over on MonsterFool called Good Times which I encourage you to check out for Sam tales. I share her general sentiment. Usually I notice it each night as we sing the final lullabies in our bedtime ritual.