And What'll You Do Now, My Blue-Eyed Son?

Frazier at 28 months is extraordinary. And I don't just mean his hair. :)

It's hard to remember what it was like to have a Frazier that didn't communicate. My favorite part of having a two-year-old is talking with him. He talks all the time. He talks to me, himself, his toys, the dog. After two years of narrating our life aloud for him, he now does the same for me. I love it.

For Frazier, "my" serves as my, I and I'm, though he does use "me" correctly most of the time. He always announces his arrival, "My tummin'! My tummin'!" or that he's returned "My back!" or "My fall down again!" or "My eat-a lunch?"

He runs. Everywhere.

At any given moment he may engage you in a swordfight. En garde!

He repeats everything I say, and sometimes he even rephrases things as though he's practicing; trying out different ways of saying the same thing.

He's always thinking.

He'll furrow his brow and ask random questions out of the blue, which is great. I often wonder what thought process preceded them.

One day we were singing Jesus Loves Me in the car and when it was over he was quiet for a bit then asked, "Jesus love you too, Mom?" Yes, darling, Jesus loves us both.

Today he asked me what I'd like to eat from his kitchen, so I requested a cookie. He looked at me for a minute and then walked to his kitchen and said, "I'll make pizza."

He has an imagination I envy. When we are home he entertains himself continually. He takes orders via the telephone in his kitchen and then goes right to cooking. He pulls out things like a train and Gumby and Spiderman and creates little scenarios in which they go on a trip or play ball or eat birthday cake. He doesn't even require a toy. One day last week I found him laying on the couch on his back with his hands in the air above his head telling some story about a spaceship. He'd put his hands together as if in prayer, start them resting on his chest and then blast them off into the air. Night before last he build imaginary houses along the edge of the tub...one for each of us...and Gatsby. The other day he fed his fire truck. Birthday cake. In a pot.

Sometimes he grabs his football and runs out into the backyard yelling "Football time!" He is his father's son.

Frazier is always ready to paint or to cook, but rarely up for sleeping.

He wakes up happy every morning.

He is very strong. And quite the acrobat.

If he'd let me, I'd give him a hug every five minutes or so just because, but he's oftentimes too busy for hugs so I just tousle his hair lovingly instead. One day I was sitting on the couch and he came running in, stopping just in front of me. "Hi, Mom." he says smiling. "Hi, sweet

heart," I say smiling back. He stands there like he's waiting for something, then finally says expectantly, "Pet my head..." Guess that just seemed like what should come next.

I would never say that one could read enough, but when we've read ten books in one evening and he wants to read another one...I might come close.

Sometimes he wants to go outside and just run. So we go outside and just run...in big circles and figure eights around the yard and he laughs and laughs and periodically he falls down and rolls in the grass. Then he gets back up and starts over. I'm glad I was a runner before he was, because I would not be up for this...it's grueling. And so. much. fun. One day I watched him running around with leaves in his hair and wondered why I'd never thought of this before...running and rolling and laughing. It was beautiful. I tried to etch that afternoon on my mind so when we are both older I could remember us like that...just running and laughing. With leaves in our hair.

Yesterday we had an afternoon storm complete with hail and thunder so we just curled up in bed and listened to the rain for a long time and I wanted to remember that forever too.

I don't suppose I deserved one afternoon so wonderful, yet I get one every day.

What an extraordinary life we lead.

And what'll you do now, my darling young one?