As you well know, we've had some real weather excitement over the last week or so. Stormy weather always brings about a trying time in the Myers household. The reason is because Cole doesn't like thunder. In fact, it terrifies him.
She's now grown out of it, but Chloe used to carry a pink, fluffy blanket around with her. As she walked through the house, she'd have a thumb stuck in her mouth and that blanket bunched in her arms.
On Wednesday, Chloe turned 4 years old. I sat down that evening after she went to bed and wrote the following letter to her and Cole.
On the Fourth of July, we took Chloe and Cole to a fireworks show.
Chloe loves books. Every night before she goes to bed, Amy or I have to read to her. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, she comes to us with a book in her hand, begging us to read it to her.
Do you remember your first bicycle? I do. It was a red Schwinn with a kick stand, a chain guard and a banana seat. It had smooth street tires and pedal brakes. What a beauty!
"If God is all-knowing, then he knew we were going to sin. But he created us, anyway. Why would he do that?"
Chloe just said four words I've been dreading to hear. I knew they were coming. My friend Chris had already warned me. He said I'd hear them one day, and that I'd better be preparing myself.
When I was a kid, I had the M&M's people figured out. Their slogan was, "The milk chocolate melts in your mouth, not in your hand." Well, of course it melted in your mouth. If you held an M&M for too long, the candy coating would start to melt in your hand, coloring it. In a rush to minimize the mess, you would pop the candy into your mouth long before it ever got to the chocolate.
"I'm going to get you!" I threaten as I start to slowly lumber toward her, wiggling my fingers in the air.
I spent part of my day today under the dining room table. Why? Because apparently I've got that kind of time on my hands.
The other day I was looking back at some old pictures of Chloe. Some of them were more than a year old. If it weren't for me or Amy in the pictures with her, I would think I was looking at someone else's child, not mine. I was amazed at how much Chloe had changed in such a short a time.
At Chloe's day care, they have a large window cut into the wall. Every once in a while, while I'm on lunch, I'll drop in and look at her through that window. From the hallway, I can see how she's doing, how she's interacting with the other kids and whether she's behaving.
Chloe stood in the doorway of her room, smiling at me. Yet the smile was unlike her usual smile. It didn't hold the brightness. It didn't display the openness. There was no enjoyment in it. Instead, it seemed guarded. Forced. Something plastered on her face to distract me from something else she didn't want me to see.
The other day, Chloe was trying to get into a chair so she could sit in it "like a big girl." Unfortunately for her, she wasn't as big a girl as she thought she was.
Once, while we were on a trip to see Amy's folks in Texas, we stopped at a store to stretch our legs and take a bathroom break. When we walked inside, we saw a large display of polished rocks.
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