Dear Mark,

I love you. You are the cutest little boy in the world, you're funny, and you're just...fun. We can play with Legos for hours, run around the back yard throwing dirt, play in the pool, or lie around cuddling and watching your favorite shows. We can find entertainment in ridiculous little things, and crack up like it's the funniest thing in the world. Your laugh brings me so much joy.

With that said, you're a little punk sometimes. I know you're getting teeth, but please stop biting me; my shoulder can't take anymore. I know you're tired, but stop screaming! If you're annoyed, there's no reason to stomp on my laptop screen, and I know you want to run around in circles and get into strangers' purses at the doctor's office, but...no. Just no, kid.

It's so amazing watching you grow up and learn new things. You're so much fun now that you're getting bigger...but you're definitely more of a butt, too; there's no need to lie about it. We all know that toddlers are obnoxious, even if I wanted to pretend that you were going to be the sweetest little boy on earth (which you can be--kisses, anyone?).

I just want you to know that I love you and I will continue to love you for the rest of my life. Eventually I'm going to get this parenting thing right and figure out how to get you to listen to the word, "No." I keep hoping that you'll learn to live with it and stop testing your limits, but I'm sure that's not true--look at your parents! Either way, you're going to grow up with an amazing character, even if you can be a punk sometimes.

No matter what, my baby, just keep being amazing.

Love, Mom

I've had this stuffed rat (Scabbers from Harry Potter - right on) sitting on my floor for months, along with a few other items that I've had the intention of giving away or something. I just haven't gotten around to it. Sometimes I'm lazy like that.

Anyway, today Mathew (dad's girlfriend's son, who is 5) walks into my room and picks the toy up. "Is this yours?" he asks.

"Yes, it's mine. But you can have it if you want, as long as you share with Mason." (Mason is his twin brother.)

"I want one of these for my birthday," he tells me.

I'm confused. "You mean a real rat?"

He laughs. "No. One just like this."

"You mean a stuffed one?"

"Yes."

I'm trying to make the connection in my head. "But I just said you could have that one."

"Yes," he says offhandedly, and continues. "And for Christmas I want a bike."

"Oh..."

"And do you know what I want for Easter?" He doesn't give me time to come up with an answer. "Another bike!"

"You want two bikes?"

"Yes," he answers with a nod.

"What would you do with two bikes? You don't even have enough legs for two."

"I know, but the second one is in case the first one breaks."

"Oh. Well that's just good planning."

"I know," he says proudly. He studies the rat a little more before asking, "Can I have this?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Uh, sure. Happy birthday, kiddo."

He looks thoroughly confused. "It's not my birthday."