You are the provider of some of my most joyful and most frustrating moments during the day. It's often like someone has pressed your fast-forward button and the remote is another one from which you've carefully removed the batteries. And "fast forward" does not begin to describe the dreaded before bed "tornado mode" and the "I-need-attention" destructor moments.
You love having things clean and in order. You are rarely so happy as when your room is neat and your toys are easy to find. On the other hand, you like things neat so that they can be made messy again. A neat pile of books or a straight row of shoes will meet a swipe of your arm 80% of the time. And let's not mention the fact that I need to hide in order to fold/stuff diapers.
You love to find wayward chips and pop belonging to Daddy, but you wiggle and swing your arms and arch your back when it's time to brush our teeth.
My baking supplies often meet an untimely demise. I understand that baking soda and sugar are a lot like sand and fun to play with, but it's a lot of work cleaning it off the floor!
And speaking of cleaning... an art gallery worth of crayon scribbles are upstairs waiting to be cleaned so I can paint. The box might say "magic eraser" but there's little magic about mama's elbow grease and arm strength, which is what the job truly requires.
However... even while writing this, you've came to visit me. Climbing into my lap and lovingly showing me every detail of your new plane. "Wook Mama! Plane!" And you turn your big blue eyes up at me and say, "Awwww... Mama." Which is your language for I love you. You come back with the transformer that you carefully de-limbed and say, "Robo! Broken." I ask if you broke it. A cheerful, "uh-huh!" and you're off again for another adventure.
You're the most cheerful, rambunctious, sweet, stubborn boy I've met, and I wouldn't change you for the world!
Gotta run, I can hear you opening the pantry door...