At Three...

It took me a while to sit down and put thought to pixel.  The Ducklings change at such an amazing rate these days, that it feels impossible to pinpoint them to a specific day.  I didn't know much about young children until I had my own, so for some reasons, I thought a three year old was only slightly more complex and sophisticated than a two year old (unless you have one two-going-on-sixteen-year old like I do); but the amount of learning, exploring and growth that has happened in the past year is staggering.  So many firsts (and a few lasts... sniff) that I'm most certainly remiss in chronicling them all.

In any case, here are snapshots of my babies A, B and C at three:

Colin

Ah, the mercurial Mister C.  Hugs, kisses and cuddles bookmarked by a very convincing "NO!".  You love nothing more than to have your siblings playing happily in the background - and not with anything you are playing with now, played with 5 minutes ago, or anticipate playing with in the next 30.  You gravitate towards anything fiddly.  You almost always have something small in hand, like Teeny Teddy or one of your beloved cars - which, incidentally, you like parking in very specific places.  You are still our Water Baby, and you're happiest when "swimming" in the bath, submerged to your chin, or splashing in puddles, submerged to your knees.

It is only fun if you can pour a litre of water from each rainboot.  I would love to explore your vibrant imaginary world; last night, you informed me that one of the rungs of your bed was a Christmas tree.  You've flown on clouds with monsters, walked to the moon with crocodiles.  How awesome is that?!

This summer, on a drive with Grampy, you gave him accurate directions on how to get back to the cottage; you know your lefts from rights, your letters, a propeller from a flap and stop from go.  You and Sprocket don't really trust each other, but you still manage a very cheerful "Hi, Puppy" when you see him in the distance.  You also greet shoes, chairs, bugs and the large letter "C" over your bed in the same fashion.  In short, you are a ray of sunshine.  Of course, we all have our moments, and yours stem almost entirely from things unfolding against your intended plan of action.

You think Keith is hilarious, and you spend a lot of time laughing at his antics and playing along.  You are very earnest, and you try hard to make sense of the big world you see around you... "Because" is often how you start your explanation of why something is the way it is, and your interpretations are remarkably astute, complex and achingly adorable.

You love music (muswick), toy cars, milk and Cheerios (but not together.  Ever.), 'namese food (our weekly Vietnamese take-out),  playing outside in all weather (yes!!), sleeping and... did I mention toy cars?  At preschool, while the others paint broad lines and arcs on the page, you paint dots, all lined up in orderly rows.  I apologize in advance that you seem to have received a fair dose of Teutonic blood.  You also seem to have inherited my sweet tooth, luckily counterbalanced by your father's metabolism.  However, you are most marvelously 100% you, and we love you so!


Keith

Keith (pronounced Keef): noun.  A highly ticklish, 8-tentacled creature with x-ray vision that will eat anything (anything) except brussel sprouts and fritattas.  

While Colin likes to play with toy cars, you prefer the real thing.  You astonish people with your ability to identify the cars you see by their shape alone.  Beetle cars, Mustangs, Mini Coopers, Volvos, Mitsubishis, BMWs are all part of your extensive repertoire; and most impressive of all, Opa's Mercedes (pronounced:  Mercedaaahhs).  Which you have driven... unintentionally.

The two things you must, must, MUST know at all times are:  "what car is that?", and "what's their name?".  You will ask at least ten times, until someone, in sheer exasperation, will toss out an answer: "I don't know, Keith.  Maybe it's John".  Only to have you ask, months later, how John is doing.  That's the other thing people are astonished by - your memory.  Scraps of songs we sang when you were a baby, tidbits you overheard (add supersonic hearing to the definition), people and dogs you met in passing last year.  If we can't remember the details, we ask you.  Plus, you see everything.  If Daddy has a new watch on, you notice it within seconds.  If there is a new tupperware container on top of the fridge that perchance may contain cookies, you spot it immediately.  If Malcolm has a tiny self-inflicted scratch anywhere on him, you see it before I do.

Speaking of Malcolm, you are incredibly loving and gentle towards him.  You love to cuddle with him every morning, and you tell me proudly that he is a "cute little guy".  I can see in your eyes that you are genuinely enraptured with your little brother, and I think the feeling is mutual.  You have a big heart.  You are Sprocket's best friend, and when we had to muzzle Sprocket to give him ear medication, you burst into tears, imploring us to take the muzzle off because you thought it hurt him.  When Opa's foot is causing him grief, you tsk sadly and say "Poor Opa". You two are pretty good pals; and you're both colossal mischief magnets, which is why we all reacted somewhat speedily when the two of you were working in the garden together and Opa asked you to pass him the utility knife.

You cannot walk in a straight line.  Between the 5 steps to the washroom, you stop to rifle through the cupboard to demand ("HAVE SOME") applesauce, play with the BBQ tongs, try to open the back door, sample the dog food, hide in the pantry waiting to be found (we can hear you giggling), and open every drawer in the bathroom to fish everything out with a "who gave this to you, Mummy?".

You have an impish sense of humour.  When a well-meaning adult asks you the colour of something, you always pick one that it is not.  This causes a certain amount of confusion for your interlocutor, and hilarity for you.  You also love making people laugh, and silly words - hullabaloo is a favourite, as is Stroumbouloupoulos.  The #1 Keithism?  "AGAIN!"  We love you!


Evelyn


Our Missus.  You have always known your mind, and when you add all-that-is-two to that, you get a lot of spice.  However, there is a heaping dose of nice that comes along with that.  You love to help: matching socks, putting away laundry, doling out goodies to your brothers and trying your best to keep them in line.  You are their advocate.  If Colin is sad, you'll be the first to tell us why, and will ask us to help him.  If we draw a line in the sand - say, telling Keith we will not crawl around in the dark to locate a missing teddy for the 5th time that night - we'll hear from you.  "Pleeeeease find Keith's teddy, pleeeeeaaase!".

When Keith was struggling with being dropped-off at preschool, you gave him a hug and patted him on the back to console him.  The next drop-off, you reminded him, "Now Keith, no crying".  You love "the boys", your baby Stella, who you tote around in a receiving blanket turned baby carrier that Myriam makes for you, and your sparkly shoes.

You are very sophisticated.  You eat daintily, carefully wiping your face and hands.  You like matching your barrettes and dresses, but you are much more rough and tumble than princess.  Occasionally, we'll get a wagging finger in addition to a statement: "I'm just going downstairs to get a kleenex", and I challenge anyone to defy you.  Yesterday, you announced that you were going outside because the "weather looked pretty good".  You can put on your shoes and coat, and if your stumble with your zipper, you'll sigh and say "Silly me".  You relish any and every opportunity for independence.  Those moments are fewer and further between that you'd like, but we know you'll keep pushing the boundaries in that direction, and we're happy to encourage you.   Totally on your on initiative, you started calling us "Mom" and "Dad".  But of course, when the going gets tough, you always put your head on our shoulders for a reassuring hug.
  
You've tackled language with the same determination and drive that you approach anything new.  You want to be understood.  Truly, we do have to conceal a smile when you ask us to turn on the "water-fier" (aka humidifier), or when you tell us that one day, you'll be big enough to go down the "water mountain" (aka water slide) at the hotel's water park.  You love words and you are verbose.  At the dinner table, you relate the days events in a breathless stream of consciousness, often adding a little dramatic flair, and the boys sit, mesmerized by your linguistics prowess.  All of the exciting moments - past and present - are highlighted by hand flapping, a tendency you've had since infancy.  It is clear that you are effervescent to your very core.

Although you weren't a huge fan of dance class, you love to dance.  At Nana and Opa's on Sunday nights after dinner, you request ABBA to show off your latest routine to a very appreciative audience.  At first, you were a little intimidated to move to the music, but at a birthday party last weekend, you threw caution to the wind and twirled, jumped and jived like no one was watching.  You had a blast, and didn't want to go home.  I see many winter afternoon dance parties in our basement, and I can hardly wait.  You grow, move and change at a dizzying pace, but we are thrilled to be along for the ride.  We love you so!

PS:  All the pictures above were taken in our basement, which has been turned into a carpeted playroom in anticipation of the coming season.  It took a lot of work to convert it, but we're really pleased with how it turned out.  Now to set up the Thomas the Tank Engine table....