THIS is the Carter.

Dear Carter, 

You, my dear, are so very special. I often wonder how so much personality is squeezed into such a small frame. I wonder how you come up with the naughtiest, most mischievous ideas lately, especially when you are being babysat by your Uncle Adam. 

He adores you, but I am pretty sure you will be responsible for his coming heart attack, or at least some premature hair-greying, if you don't cool it soon.

For instance, the time when Mom and Dad were on their Valentine's Day date and you peed your pants once, and then pooped them TWICE all in the course of thirty minutes? Uncle Adam can't handle poo pants. Heck, I can barely handle them, and you're my flesh and blood. 

Plus, this winter you had already peed on his neck (while you were riding his shoulders at the Oregon Zoo Lights) and peed through your diaper (back before potty training) when you guys went to the movies to see FrankenWeenie. 

Your "I can't put my arms down!" look.

 But pee/poo pants is just the beginning. 

Just last week Mom and Dad went to dinner with some friends and Uncle Adam was home watching Wreck it Ralph with you. 

How you found that twelve-inch bread knife is one question.

How you didn't gash your beautiful face open holding the knife blade against your skin, vertically and directly between your eyes and down your nose and chin, is another. 

How Uncle Adam didn't drop dead at the sight of you pressing the knife against your face is a miracle. 

I think you make it up to him, though, with how very much you adore him. If we go two or three days without seeing him, invariably you will look up from playing with Playdoh or coloring or pushing salad around on your plate (you hate cold vegetables with a passion unlike anything I have ever witnessed), sigh, and say (quite often with your little fist pushed up under your little chin  and frowning eyebrows, just like in a cheesy sitcom), "Mama, I miss Unka Adam."

Sugar High.

You really are one of a kind. My favorite thing about you right now is your perceptive nature. You always know when Mom needs one of your big bear hugs. You will come up and wrap your little (surprisingly strong) arms around whatever part of me you can reach and squeeze until you are literally shaking from head to toe. You put everything you have into those hugs. 

Your kisses are much the same. When mom is feeling blue or upset or overwhelmed, you are always there. You will come right up to me, look at my face for a long moment, grab my head on either side with your little hands, and plant a big, almost too-long kiss right on my lips! And you'll do it again and again until I am fully cheered up and laughing and tickling you mostly to distract you. 

I love, too, how you mug for photos. You don't smile or merely strike a pose, you put on your most devious devil-eyebrows and crazy, teeth-baring smile and really make an impression! I can't stop taking photos of you, and I hope you never stop taking pictures this way.

Do I have something in my teeth?

Somethings that I hope I will never forget are some of the hilarious ways you express yourself. You have been a chatterbox for so long, speaking so well at just two, and even better now that you are nearly three! There is something about being frustrated or upset, though, that has brought out some pretty colorful expressions from you.

For example, until very recently you HATED having your hair washed. I mean really loathed it. Would kick and cry and scream any time we washed your hair, no matter what method we employed to keep water and soap out of your face. What we still haven't figured out, though, is why you would always shout the same thing every time we went in to wash your hair. You would begin to wiggle and fuss and as soon as we had gently dunked your head in the water, you always would cry out, 

"MY SISTER, AVERY! MY SISTER, AVERY!"

Telling me a story about Super Grover, an airplane and a Pody with your feet up.

Were you begging us to torture her instead of you? Were you calling on her to rescue you from us?

Either way, it never worked. 

But that never stopped you from calling out. And we tried (we really did!) not to laugh. 

That didn't work out very well, either. 

Another thing I hope I'll remember forever is the sweet way you play with toys. You and Avery both have the most amazing imaginations, and I love how you play together with inanimate objects that are very much alive in your mind. Heck, yesterday I gave you a tablespoon of chocolate chips with your afternoon snack, and then eavesdropped for twenty minutes as you sat at the counter, giving each chip a distinct voice, holding a conversation on each morsels' favorite activity to pursue at the park. I think your favorite was the one who wanted the others to hold hands and go down the slide with him. 

At least, he was mine.

Last week I woke up (too early, as usual. Man you kids are Morning People!) to the sounds of you and Avery happily playing in your room. You were the Daddy owl and Avery was the baby owl. She would Hoot and Coo and you, in your very deepest voice, would say things like, "Baby, do you wan' brea'fast? Do you wan' to go to the park? Do you wan' go to McDonalds?"

Even just this morning over breakfast, you and Avery made up a variation on "Five Little Monkeys" with your individual breakfast items- Avery's oatmeal and your Cheerios (you hate hot cereal with the same passion as cold vegetables). "Two little Cheer'os swingin in some milk! Teasing Mr. Alligator, 'You can' catch me!' Along comes Mr. Milk Alligator, quiet as can be. And SNAPS that Cheer'os right outta dat milk!" 

This look is so hot with you right now.

Avery clammed up as soon as she realized that Daddy and I were listening in and laughing silently at you both. But you love an audience.

Your favorite toys lately are My Little Ponies. You tell everyone who will listen that 1) You are Carter. 2) You are TWO! and 3) You got My Little Pony and a unicorn from Santa!! And it's mid-March. But the best part about your pony-love is how you say the word "Pony". It comes out sounding like you have a stuffy nose- and whenever I hear you say the word you are invariably crying out for the safety and well-being of your toys, so it goes something like this: "MY PODY! MY PODY!" as in "I left my pony in the bathtub!" or "Help! My pony is still in your car!" But it always comes out in just one panicked cry: "MY PODY!!!"

Just writing this down does not capture the perfect cuteness of the expression, but at least I tried. Daddy, who is particularly skilled at picking up on your little speech anomalies, cracks me up constantly with his impressions of you. This week we were organizing your toys while you and Avery watched a movie in our bedroom, and Daddy had me in stitches calling for "MY PODY!"

This letter has turned out longer than I expected. But, then again, so little turns out quite like I expect it to with you around. And I love it so much. 

Sleeping with your twin baby doll.

Your number one fan/admirer/flustered, tired, half-crazy caretaker-who-can't-get-enough-of-you, 

   Mom

Seriously, you have got to stop drinking the play water at the Museum. Ick.