Arden: 2 years, 6 months

I meant to do an update on Arden right after I did the one on Huston, but somehow several weeks have passed and I'm just now getting around to it.  Here's a snapshot of my little girl at 2 and a half.

Sweet Arden, you are an absolute JOY to our family.  You love reading more than anything in the world, and bring us books all day long, saying "I want you to read me this."  It's hard to resist your sweet look, so you get read a lot of books.  You can read the entire book of Olivia almost verbatim and with good inflection.  It's adorable.  You always pick one book to sleep with every night.

You have an imaginary friend named Baby Junior.  I don't know how you came up with that name.  Baby Junior lives somewhere on your leg - usually your knee, but sometimes your foot.  Baby Junior's Mom also lives there.  One day in the car you said, "I have to pee!" and I turned around and asked urgently, "Arden, do you need to go potty?"  and you said, "No, Baby Junior just said 'I have to pee!'"  Sometimes I'll see you leaning over and gently touching your leg, talking to Baby Junior.

It's getting harder and harder to get you to take a nap.  If I want you to sleep, I have to go in your room after you've been in bed for awhile and rock you to sleep.  You fight it so much and always want to read more books in your bed.

You love to play games with Daddy where you take away his hat or belt and make him chase you.  Especially when Daddy comes home from work, you love to grab his belt and run off, saying, "I got your belt!"

Your favorite place to play is behind the cushions on the couch.  You burrow behind them, shove your blankies and Lambie down in the crevice, along with whatever other toy you're playing with at the moment, and snuggle in to pretend or read.  It drives me crazy because I'm always fixing the cushions, but it's also pretty cute.

Since you've been potty trained, you've regressed slightly on the peeing.  You hardly ever tell me when you need to go, and often get your panties a little bit (or a lot) wet, if I forget to take you.  You just can't stand leaving what you're doing to go to the bathroom, but you drink a lot of water.  Not the best combination.  You have gotten better about pooping, thank heaven, and will tell me when you need to go and usually do it without crying.

For a long time after Easter when I would tell you, "I love you," you would say, "Jesus died on the cross for our sins for he loves us."

You have lots of little boy admirers already.  One little boy in your Sunday school class, Riggs, makes it a point to stand by you and hold your hand, and misses you when you don't come to class.

I love the way you talk.  You still say "flone" and "microflone" instead of phone and microphone.  You say, "marshpillows" for marshmallows and "Fri-turday" a mixture of Friday and Saturday.

You're a sensitive soul (or dramatic?) and often burst into tears if we tell you we can't read you a book, or if you get reprimanded for something.  Sometimes you throw your head down to the floor and weep dramatically in a puddle.  Lately you've been crying, "My Mommy!  My Mommy!" when you're sad.  If you get in trouble and start crying, sometimes you try to pretend like you have a boo boo and ask for a bandaid.

You have gotten so independent, and insist on putting your shoes on yourself.  So different from your brother, who still often asks me to do it for him.  You're getting really good at it.  You also like to take off your clothes by yourself, and buckle and unbuckle your car seat, which can be tricky.  You cry a lot over that car seat because you either can't do it, or I don't have time to wait for you to do it.

You and Huston play well together, but you can also fight with the best of them.  One day you were both acting out an episode of Little Einstein's where Saturn loses one of its rings, and you would yell, "Arden on the rescue!" as you went in search of the lost ring.  I love listening to the two of you pretend together.  I hope you're always good friends.

And that, my girl, is you in nutshell at 2 and a half.  I wish I could freeze you in time right now, but as you love to tell me, "I just keep growing and growing."