Happy Birthday to Bode Man!

Dear Bode,

I cannot believe you will turn 3 on Saturday! I feel like we've done a full circle, as we just returned from Crested Butte--the very place we christened you as we watched Bode Miller bomb out at the Olympics.

It could be worse. You could be named after the prostitute from "Forever Amber" like me.

What a wonderful year this has been. We feared a descent into the Terrible 2s but got a mostly jovial little guy who is so quirky, funny, intense and loving. Well, except for the last two weeks, which have been a preview of The Chemical Imbalance Known as the Traumatizing 3s.

But we won't talk about all those tantrums today because Mommy is, well, traumatized.

You are like a little puppy. Mommy can leave for a only a few minutes but that moment of reuniting again? Sheer joy!

That, or your father claims you have early-onset Alzheimer's.

Whenever you get excited about something you gasp with delight, reminding us that so many things we take for granted in this world should be deeply revered such as chocolate ice cream for dinner or four minutes of reprieve while your sister is sent to timeout.

You are a wonderfully loyal little thing. From the moment your Aunt Tammy bought Hadley a toy husky dog last summer in Jackson, WY you have loved Lolly. But it had to be from afar because Sissy took her everywhere. The moment Hadley left for preschool, Lolly was yours for a few hours. You took her everywhere: to the store and even on hikes. One day when we were hiking Red Rocks, we stopped to talk to some people on the trail. I encouraged you to say "hello" and you instead grabbed Lolly and howled "Ha-wooooo."

Even better.

Fortunately, Hadley is fickle and her affections for Lolly subsided as soon as she got another pet toy but Lolly remains your most prized and treasured possession.

In May, Daddy took you on your first father-son camp-out. I died a little bit inside as I saw you pack up all your big-boy belongings for a night in the mountains with your father.



Then I died a lot more inside when Hadley made me rent Beverly Hills Chihuahua for our Girl's Night In.

You know far more than any kid should ever know about pumpkins and love spending time at the patch. In fact, Daddy even caught you with the tape measure trying to ascertain the size of our butternut squash. If children learn by example, it is my nightly prayer you will not learn from his.

Your best buddy is neighbor Shawnie and why not? You are only one month apart in age, have the same sweet disposition and swap stories about your hormonal sisters.

That is boy bonding at its best.

One day when Shawnie was over, Mommy found you both in your closet sitting atop a huge pile of blankets as you fed him a contraband bowl of marshmallows and Crispex. On the next playdate at Shawnie's, he cried when Daddy came to pick you up because there is nothing more sad than a Bode-less life.

Despite your occasional affinity to pink umbrellas, you are all boy in your pursuits. You play for hours in the sandbox with your trucks and with your "Choo-choo" track upstairs. You have been known to fight 'til the death if anyone dares to touch Gordon; Thomas is for woosies.

You are into guns. Mommy is not sure from whence this recent obsession came but after gunning everyone down with your straw, she finally bought you some waterguns. She quickly regretted his decision. Death by straw is considerably less wet than by a watergun.

You are such a sweet, calming influence in our lives. Even though you're busy conquering your world, you still have time to snuggle. When Mommy was cutting your fingernails a couple of months ago you looked up at me and in the sweetest voice, begged me to "Be Gentelw."

That melted Mommy's heart whereas Daddy threatened to send you to Toughen Up School. He did, however, gain faith when you brazenly joined your sister in the ram scramble at the Steamboat rodeo. You wisely hung back because well, duh, who is stupid enough to try to grab a flag off a sheep's butt while getting trampled by the preschooler peloton?

Of course you have been known for other occasional intellectual lapses but we won't hold them against you.



The reason? They are called "blog fodder."

Happy birthday and here's to many more years of it!

Much love,

Mommy