You played with this more than any of your toys this summer:
You ask, “What will happen if…” at least a dozen times a day. Often, you ask it in response to Mama saying something like, “Please don’t juggle those knives.” — “What will happen if I juggle those knives?” But you also ask it to pursue your favorite hobby: finding out how things work.
You have begun to leave the crusts of bread behind when you eat a sandwich.
You gleefully push your tricycle along with your feet. Very fast. Around corners and down hills. You have not fallen off it, yet.
You said bye-bye to Avva (Daddy’s mama), who went back to India after spending the summer with us. You still refer to the guest bath as, “Avva’s bathroom.”
You started school. After a bumpy couple of weeks, you now handle saying goodbye to Mama very well, and talk yourself through what’s going to happen (initially, with tears; now, with endearing gravitas). We have it on good authority that you’re having fun, especially on music days — and you’re trying foods you refuse to touch at home.
You also started swimming lessons, which you adore despite the fact that your teacher is curiously inept at working with small children. A few times a week, you go to the pool with Mama to have fun splashing around (and practice your new skills).
You are the proud owner of the “OK to Wake!” alarm clock, which glows green when it’s no longer an ungodly hour and therefore permissible for you to get out of bed and come find Mama. (Because being woken at 5:30, even by a sweet little boy, gets old mighty quick.)
You say thank you almost every time we give you something to eat. We’re pretty sure you picked that up at school. Another, less charming phrase learned at school: I want to do it NOW.
Mama-Come-Lately 