Month 30, or Officially 2 1/2

Dear Corbin,

You survived the camping trip! You got to stay up late and eat smores. You spent hours every day playing in the sand with your cousins. You threw many rocks into Lake Superior. You ate fish fry and got a boat ride from Uncle Mark. You became a stinky feral child who cried his way through a bath the first night back at the Cottage. Fortunately, you have recovered some veneer of civilization again since you've been home.

You donated several pints of blood to the mosquito population, of course, but that's to be expected. I said to your Dad last night that I hope you grow enough arm hair to cover up any scars left from you scratching your bug bites. You also have a lump on the right side of your neck, which we assume is bug bite, but I made you a doctor appointment anyway. You have your own explanation for it. You heard us talking about your "lump" and how it must be a "bite," and then told us that it's a heffalump bite.

You've made progress sorting out your pronouns, and your tenses are starting to appear, which we can tell because you've started narrating your life in declarative sentences. You know the difference between, "I'm running," versus, "I ran." You've also started the typical adding "ed" to anything to make it past tense; "I throwed it," or "I stealed it (about my coffee thermos)." And we keep parrotting things back to you, in order to either reinforce concepts, or correct grammar, or correct pronunciation.

Speaking of parrots, you met one the other day. Our neighbors' son had his pet parrot over at their house, and you and Dad went out in the back yard and got to see him up close. I don't know exactly what happened, but you came back in the house with almond crumbs all over your chin.

I love asking you what you think, when you ask me questions. The other day, you heard Dad's table saw going in the garage. You asked me, "What's Dad doing?" I said something like, "It sounds like he's making something. What do you think he's making?" You said, "A hot air balloon!"

In house news, we have finished painting the wall in the living room. Now we must hang up the curtains and move the furniture back, and it will all be back to normal. Maybe. Your train set was originally in a corner by that wall, but I moved it to under the window in the dining room. I had intended to move it back when we were done with the wall, but you seem to have declared public domain on the dining room because the train track now stretches over six feet of real estate. Train sets appear to share the property with gases; they expand to the size of their container.

We've gotten to the point where you have some of your books memorized. Before bedtime the other night, I was making you "read" "One Fish Two Fish." You knew almost every phrase on the first dozen pages or so, and lots of the rhymes later in the book. You also have set responses for specific events in some books, and every time we get to those pages, we have the same dialog. That's the fun of having the same books for a long time. One thing that has changed is the songs that you request from me at bedtime. It's a struggle to accommodate you sometimes, but I do my best. The songs you requested the other night were, in order:

The spider song

The great great great big spider song
The pufferfish song
The big pufferfish song
The big spiny pufferfish song
The teeny teeny teeny tiny pufferfish song
The rainbow song
Twinkle twinkle twinkle twinkle twinkle little star

You've also requested the Corbin song and the Corbin sleeps song, the Pooh song, the grasshopper song, the Cat in the Hat song, and when I've been out of town you've asked Dad for the Mama come home song. You certainly give our imaginations a work out, but there's nothing better than sitting in the rocking chair with you for a snuggle.

Love,
Mom



Cousins camping:
At the Cottage:
Wall primed and painted:
Jodi and Wan Ling over for breakfast. Jodi made you a leaf garland: