A Letter to the Growing Tyrant

Dear LittleBrother,

I love you. I do. And, dang, you’re cute. Last night when you crawled in bed with me after your bad dream, I could have snuggled you for hours. The way you say, “Mommy, I love you all the times,” kind of makes my heart melt, over and over and over. And over. You know, since you say it all day. I love you all the times, too.

Which is why I need to write this letter.

I looked at your Daddy the other day and said, “Is it just me or is LittleBrother becoming increasingly difficult?” He laughed. And nodded. Emphatically. Of course, we know what’s up: you’re almost three.

For most of this year, you have been a ray of sunshine with intermittent storm clouds and the occasional lightning bolt. Really, you’ve just been great. You listen well. You clean up toys. You attempt to share and do so better with people other than your older brother. You sleep well. You all but potty trained yourself. You’re a good eater. But the reason that people made up the myth of the Terrible Twos was solely to make sure that parents let their children live until they were three… so they could then laugh at those going through the Tyrannical Threes that no one prepared them for.

Oh, the threes. Your brother took us for a wild ride. I thought that maybe, just maybe, as you have strikingly different personalities, you might skip the Tyrannical Threes. Looks like no dice on that one. Recently you’ve been trying to shirk your bedtime but still waking up just as early. Your use of the word no in your very unique high pitched squeal is becoming more frequent. The attitude you deliver certain lines with can be alarming (and, really, kind of funny with your teeny-tiny voice). And the issues we’re having with food as of late are making me kind of twitchy. I really don’t like to twitch, Bubba. I don’t.

I know we’ll survive the threes. We will. But, really, if you could just tone it down a little bit until maybe three-and-a-half, give me some time to gear up, that would be spectacular. You won’t be three for another few months. I don’t need a preview. I know what’s coming. I understand the arguments we’ll have. And really, I guess I’m prepared already. I’ve been here, done this. But I just wasn’t ready for you to grow up, to move forward to the point where you won’t like me anymore. You’re my baby. I’d really like you to like me for just a little longer. Is that too much to ask?

It is?

Oh. Well, the good news is that I do love you all the times.

Oh, LB

Please just remember that you love me all the times the next time I put you in time out for whatever you’ve done or said. Okay? And maybe you could snuggle just a little bit more. Yeah? Please?

Love you all the times, even when you’re almost three,

[This is the last weekend to win the $100 Visa gift card!]
[This blog is nominated for two BlogLuxe awards (Eye Candy & Blog You Learned the Most From) while Chronicles of Munchkin Land is nominated for Most Inspiring. Vote if you feel so inclined.]



On Friday evening, or rather, sometime in the dark night of Saturday morning, LittleBrother started screaming. Screaming. FireDad bolted out of bed to be met at our youngest son’s door by a sobbing, out-of-control, rocket pajama clad little man.


At first I thought maybe he was talking about the moon. Maybe I hadn’t closed his blinds tightly enough and the full moon was shining in his window, “looking at him” as he complains that the sun so often does. I asked him if he meant the moon.

NO! The MOOSE! Was COMING… *sob*… IN … *sob* … the HOUSE!

We pulled him into our bed and he eventually calmed down. At one point, the moose was green. At another point, the offending, nightmarish moose was blue. Whatever his color, he was apparently horrific. He fell asleep and proceeded to kick, flip, flop and generally disrupt our sleep for the rest of the night.

On Saturday night, we tucked him into his bed. Around 10:30, the screaming began again. Once more we were met at his door by a frantic LittleBrother.


We convinced him that the moose was gone, that he wasn’t in the house and that he was never coming back. Ever again. He looked at us with wary eyes but told us goodnight through leftover sobs. Thankfully he slept through the rest of the night. FireDad and I got a full night’s sleep.

I just can’t imagine what his two-and-a-half-year-old brain is conjuring up. The only two moose (mooses?) that he has experience with would be Moose A. Moose and the moose from the book Moostletoe. Neither of them seem all that menacing. I mean, sure, Moose A Moose is sporting some severely yellow skin which could be a sign that he’s fighting off some form of Hepatitis. It could be autoimmune but I wouldn’t share needles with him. And Moostletoe moose is absentminded enough to forget a Christmas tree which means he could be a raging alcoholic suffering from black outs. But, you know, they don’t look evil.

Or… do they.

Is that how LittleBrother sees Moose A Moose? I mean, I know that his songs can make me feel like sticking daggers in my ear drums but he still doesn’t look scary. He’s really quite nice if not slightly repetitive. (Are we there yet? ARE WE THERE YET?) Moose A Moose has taught us all about the seasons and recycling and being repetitive! (See?) Hardly nightmare material.

I just can’t figure out why LittleBrother has chosen to have nightmares about any moose at all. If anything, I think his nighttime panic would have something to do with his dad running into burning buildings. After watching Firehouse Dog, the two boys have been play-acting firefighter scenes with more frequency. They heard sirens in the distance the other day and had to run inside and find their helmets. Though maybe I’m not all that surprised that they don’t have nightmares about fire. I never seem to dream about people or situations that are currently going on in my life. Only high school, old boyfriends and random people chasing me through the woods. Maybe LittleBrother is conjuring up Evil Moose Visions because we’ve recently cut back even more on our TV time due to the gorgeous weather we’ve been having. Maybe he actually misses Moose A Moose. Unlikely but maybe.

Whatever the case, I sure hope he’s able to get some sleep soon. You know, because I like sleep, too. And a world free of Big Scary Moose…s.