Dear Olivia,

Oh my O-bear, you are now three years old.  3!  It’s so cliche to say I don’t know where the time has gone but it really is astonishing how fast time flies when you’re chasing a toddler and an infant and answering repetitive mundane questions every two seconds.  Year two was a damn hard year and I bid it a fond adieu.  I am thrilled to put year two behind us but I proceed with caution since I have heard the 3’s can be even more difficult than the 2’s.  I don’t see how this could be possible and there is no way I can prepare for whatever exorcism like tantrums you’re about to enthrall upon the world but as long as I don’t have any huge expectations, I can never be disappointed, right?  Sure.

We just returned from Disneyland and it was a very enjoyable experience overall.  Upon returning, you asked if you could live at Disneyland so I’m assuming you found the trip enjoyable as well.  I didn’t witness too many outbursts but I can’t tell if that’s because you weren’t having them or you were just blending in with the crowd.  You’re going through a phase where you appear to be scared of anything and everything and Disneyland was no exception.  I understand being a little scared of random men who stare a little too long but then you started crying during very junior rides and then it started to get annoying.  Really, you’re scared of Winnie the Pooh and Mr. Toad?  Your anxiety peaked on the drive home when a fly got trapped in the car and you became hysterical in the back seat because the damn thing landed on your knee.  There we are, barreling down I-5 with Grandma hanging over the back seat trying to catch this tiny fly while Grandpa is suggesting that perhaps what you saw was a raisin.  You’re screaming hysterically and all the while, Miles is sitting pretty watching you lose it and I could almost feel his utter content with the situation.  Every time we thought we took care of the damn fly, you would begin to scream hysterically again.  Finally I had to pull over and as we opened the doors to let this one fly out, I’m positive I saw three more enter in the process but I didn’t dare say anything.  You had an emotional run for the next thirty minutes before we could finally distract you with what you refer to as ‘Pirate’s Boobie’ and a movie.

We attempted a ‘Princess’ breakfast for your birthday which I feel went over a bit better than the ‘Princess’ lunch we did at Disney World.  You are a bit more familiar with the princesses this go around as opposed to six months ago and you engaged with the ladies a little bit more rather than only saying, “this is my brother.”  You were incredibly excited as they announced each princess and I watched you munch on your bacon with extreme intensity over the excitement of a real life princess headed your way.  I partly feel bad for the princesses because where they kneeled down to greet you, was a display of Miles’ displeasure of the entire experience which included regurgitated sausage and waffle.  Your love of bacon was evident on your little paws and suddenly my heart ached for these poor ladies who deal with this day in and day out.  All in all, it was very enjoyable and you enjoyed yourself very much and Miles became thankful for low-cut dresses where princesses bosoms play peek-a-boo.  Yes, your brother is already a perv and yes, you will have to deal with it when you invite your lady friends over.

You love to get a rise out of me and you will do or say almost anything to achieve this.  Your ongoing goal is to see how much you can humiliate me in public and I’m certain you stay up late in bed concocting plans.  Case in point, at a recent trip to the grocery store, I’m attempting to purchase one tiny little carton of milk and your brother is attempting to dive head first out of the cart while you decide that the grocery store is just plain boring.  As I’m one-handed steering the cart while using my other hand to hold your brother down, you decide to drape yourself over the center aisle display of yogurt while announcing to the store, “HEY MOM – I’M POOPING!”  The poor elderly woman next to you turned her head so quickly, I thought she was going to get whiplash.  She glared at you with the most disgusted face and then she turned and glared at me because you know as a Mother, I have the capability to control every action and word you blurt out.  I quickly turn to you and tell you to not say those things and you, seeing the fact that I might be so humiliated that I might actually be crapping my own pants, you begin to laugh and yell louder, “I’M POOPING, I’M POOOOOPING!!”  You will see that once you have children, there is no such thing as a simple errand.

You are very vocal now in your newfound awareness that people look different, i.e. skin color.  You obviously do not point out skin color in a derogatory manner but it definitely draws attention when you point out that a person down the aisle from us is brown and you are indeed white.  When I tell you Grandma will be visiting us, you question whether brown Grandma or white Grandma is coming.  Brown Grandma loves this because we all know how proud she is of her ‘olive-complected’ skin however, I am not thrilled of this new observant behavior.  I know it doesn’t mean anything and you are simply just being an observant toddler however other people don’t necessarily feel the same way and if I have you walking around pointing out every brown person, other people are going to judge me more so than they already do because as I mentioned before, because I am the parent, I am responsible for every word that is spewed from your mouth.

Your new preschool has introduced you to a plethora of religious songs which you boisterously sing everywhere which you then follow up with a very intense smack of your fist in to your hand where you bellow, “AMEN!”  You have scared the bejesus out of me and every poor living soul in your vicinity when you decide out of the blue to yell, ‘AMEN!”  I have actually witnessed poor Miles stunned out of sleep by your voluminous voice.  Yes, I can sense you already hold deep religious convictions.

You are the only person I know who can look good parading around the house in nothing but your ‘Jessie’ cowgirl hat and you enjoy singing every thought that runs through your head in one endless ramble that can last upwards of twenty minutes or so.  You are obsessed with clutching your little princess figurines until you have glitter pouring out of every orifice of your body.  You’re dirty, defiant, crusty, mouthy and yet you’re perfectly adorable.  You have an attitude beyond your years and I’m sure we’re in for a hell of a journey ahead of us.  Case in point, when your Father is reprimanding you, your response is, “FINE, JUST GO WORK!”  Only a parent can deal with the crap a toddler deals out and despite the bacon hands and the inch of snot caked on your nose with a tinge of glitter, I still can’t get enough.  You drive me insanely crazy and my ass is constantly sweaty over public humiliation you cast upon me but you will always be my little O-bear or Gerri if that’s what you prefer.  You are ridiculous and kooky and I wouldn’t change a thing – well, maybe the attitude a smidge.  Happy Birthday my Olivia. Now, get back to work.

Love,

Momma