Dear Davis,

Last October you turned four years old. I'm four months late on writing you this letter, well, because all my free time is taken up by you talking.

“You Know What?”, you’ll start.

And when you get the typical “What?” response, you say, “Can I Tell You Something?”

Sure! We say, with every effort to sound enthusiastic. Which by the way, is sometimes very difficult after the first ten You-Know-What? Guess-What? exchanges.

Once you get the interest from your audience, and the subsequent confirmation, you begin your monologue and almost always it starts with, “Um, today at school, Maffew…."

It’s kind of a joke between your Dad and I, and sometimes I can’t help but interrupt your story with “This one time - at band camp…” When you turn twenty, rent the movie 'American Pie' and you will see the similarity.

Anyway, Matthew is one of your really good friends at school. A friend you have known since you were two months old. Sometimes the stories about Matthew are good, and sometimes they are bad, but regardless, we usually know Matthew’s every last move by the end of the evening.

Now that we drop Hayden off at school, you are the only one with us on the daily commute to and from work. I don’t know if you have a fear of silence or just think our work highlights are boring, but Oh My Word, do you talk!

You talk and talk and talk. And then guess what? You talk some more. And then you know what? Then you talk even more. And if at least one of us isn’t looking back at you nodding, you’re all "GUYS! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!!?"

And when we confirm that yes indeed, we are still listening to you, you start from the top just to make sure we didn’t miss the part about Maffew chasing Madelyn outside.

And I am not going to lie. It gets a little draining…all the Whats? And nodding! And Yes-I-Do-Want-To-Know! But it is also so stinking cute.

Especially when it involves a complete stranger. You have the confidence to approach anyone. Even your older brother counts on you to make friends. I once witnessed him send you to fetch future friends at the park.

Earlier this week, a woman was walking out of work at the same time as you and me. She commented about how you must be really fast because of your tennis shoes. That was just enough of introduction for you to decide to make a life-long friend, telling her all about your shoes and your jacket and the fact that you know how to zip your jacket by yourself, and you know what else, you are four, and guess what, your brother is six.

A few weeks ago we took you in for your annual well check visit at the doctor. Oh what an adventure. It wasn't the fact that you had to get four, count them FOUR! shots. It wasn't even your over dramatic limping afterward that made this appointment stand out.

It was the inevitable quiz.

The quiz your doctor gives is nothing new. We’ve been doing it since you were two months old. She rattles off questions and I answer them as she makes notes and check marks in your PERMANENT chart. Is he rolling over? Sitting up? Still drinking from a bottle? Walking yet? Talking yet? Check, check, check. Moving on.
But at age four, she starts asking the child questions. Which is scary, because no one can predict what is going to come out of your mouth at any given moment. Since your brother, the guinea pig, has done this before, I sort of gave you a heads up on the questions.

Consider yourself lucky.

Your poor brother bombed his five year old quiz. When she asked him his mommy’s phone number, he sort of tilted his head to side, and said “I don’t know, you can ask her," as he darted his head toward my direction. Like Duh! She’s right there.

Dr. Herrera usually focuses on three main categories: safety, nutrition, and development. So on the way to the doctor I made sure to remind you of that one time in your life that you had scrambled eggs for breakfast instead of pop-tarts.

Oh, and isn’t it crazy how much you LOVE cucumbers? That’s probably what I would call your favorite vegetable, wouldn’t you.

Unfortunately your doctor didn’t spend too much time on this topic this time around. Although, I must say that you and your brother probably aced this section. When the topic of vegetables came up, Hayden saved the day by shouting, and I quote, that he “loves Loves LOVES green peas." I found out 'love' was a bit of an overstatement after I bought a can of peas the next weekend and he ate a total of four of them.

You scored bonus points as well when she suggested you guys eat oatmeal sometime and you chimed in that you LOVED oatmeal, but you call it porridge like Goldilocks. Then you went and told her about that one time we let you put sprinkles on top of it. Minus Two!

So then she moved onto the safety questions. She asked if you answer the door when someone knocks on it. You’re all, “YEAP!” to which she explains how you should never, ever answer the door without an adult. Then this exchange happens:

Dr. Herrera: What should you always do when before you cross the street?

I scooted to the edge of my seat in anticipation, eyebrows raised, a smile from ear to ear, because I knew you knew this.

"Look both ways!" you said confidently.

Dr. Herrera: Right, right. And when you look both ways, what are you looking for?

Then silence.

You sort of got this smirk on your face like you have no idea, so instead you are thinking of something witty. I sat back chair shaking my head because I could tell by your grin that you had no idea that EVERY DAY when we stand in the parking lot SURROUNDED BY CARS and look both ways, we are looking to make sure there are no CARS coming.

“SEASHELLS?!?” You blurted out.

And then more notes were scribbled in your permanent medical records.

Oh son! I hope you get a good GPA in college because future employers may turn you away if they run across these records and find out that you once crossed the street hoping a GIANT SEASHELL wouldn’t run you over.

I’m sorry I let you down. I will try to be more specific in the future.

Your dad and I teach Sunday School every other weekend to five years olds. Which is the perfect age because it is right smack dab in between you and your brother. But sometimes my better judgment escapes me and I offer to let you stay in our classroom...as long as you act sweet, and like a five year old, I tell you.
About a month or so ago, I made the decision not to extend that offer again after you attempted to start a coup during circle time.

I was going over the bible story asking for questions and comments when you piped up and said, “EVER notice we always talk about GOD here?” as you glanced around the room, hands raised, looking for supporters.

You love to be the center of attention and will do whatever it takes to get there. You provide this family with so many uncontrollable laughs. However, many of your moments are un-bloggable. I know too many people personally that read my blog and I wouldn’t want them to judge me based on some of the words that have escaped your mouth.

Words that are never said at our house.

Your dad and I speculate that when a person talks as much as you do, mish-mashing words, and joining random sentences together, they sometimes just luck out and say something WILDLY inappropriate…which yields a lot of attention. And we’ll just say you have lucked out on several occasions. Including that one time recently when you told your teacher that I gave you a beer at the park.

She confronted me the next day.

ROOT beer! It was ROOT beer. But you forgot that slight detail.

I love you Davis. More than you will ever know. I love that you draw pictures for us and always specify who they're for and where exactly they should be hung. I love that you rhyme everything (except when it gets us in trouble). I love hearing you and your brother tickle each other. I love that you are predictably unpredictable. I love the way you “push” me out of your class every day followed by a huge production of hugs and kisses. In the same order every day.
Will you do this when I drop you off at your college dorm? Please?

Love,
Momma the Llama