Sunday, January 06, 2013

letter to trinity: 90 months

Dear Trinity,

We're in 2013 now, and man writing that is weird for me. When I was a teenager I remember thinking how it would be to live in dates like 2010 and beyond, and wondering what that future would be like for me. Now that its here, it doesn't seem so weird. I feel older maybe, but not so much that I can't laugh at how silly it seems to feel old, and still be a few years away from 40. I think maybe I just always feel melancholy as I get used to a new year. It'll probably keep getting worse as I age.



We had a fun christmas holiday. We were all off together for more than 2 weeks and we made it out without anyone going completely crazy, so I call it a win. Contrary to my concerns about being bored, we were busy, and I can't recall one day where anyone was moping about not having enough to do, or not getting to do what we wanted. In fact, I'd say it was more the opposite. I always forget how busy the xmas season is. The first week off we were crazy busy, lots of visiting with your Mom's family locally, and then travelling to my Dad's place to visit your Grandpa, Aunt and cousins. When we got home, we gave ourselves the project of painting the office, with the hopes that your Mom will be working from home in the New Year. We all pitched in and got it done in one day, and had lots of fun doing it. Other than that over the holidays, we did some tobogganing, some downhills skiing, and made up a snow version of dodgeball. 'Dodgesnow'. Cool name, right?



As far as xmas went, I think you made out very well. You and your Mom got me a bunch of things I had on a few online wish lists, so I literally got exactly what I wanted. For you, you got some nice toys from us, (and, ahem, Santa). You also got jammies, books, some clothes from my Mom that you are at least 3-4 years away from fitting into. It was pretty typical.



Other things that happened in December included a trip down to your Uncle Dave's place. He lives on a 30 or so acre farm, complete with horse and barn. You took the opportunity to teach yourself how much fun it is to jump in (and out of) a hayloft, as well as to try your hand at riding horseback. I have no doubt but that you'll soon be asking for us to take you back there again.



Funny story about your mother: While you, your Uncle and I were playing out in the barn, getting dirty and having a good time, your Mom was inside, getting dressed up, make up on, etc. When you saw her, with you covered in hay and what I hope was mud from the barn, you took one look and demanded that she 'take off the fanc (your word) and put on the farm!' It became a meme for the rest of the weekend.



I keep meaning to bring up your air guitar and burgeoning singing skills. Air guitar first: You have developed this hysterical habit of rocking out on an imaginary guitar whenever something appropriate comes on, and with the old classic rock I subject you to, you get a lot of opportunities. Let me know if you figure out why all those random guitar solos ever got inserted into so many popular songs. Or why they went away. It is really funny though, because you've taken your air guitaring to a whole new level, getting right into it with a face of extreme concentration, arms flailing, etc. And as to the singing, well, you received a microphone that plugs into your Mom's iphone, and with the help of a karaoke app, have been singing yourself hoarse lately. You've also been taking to writing your own music and then performing it. I love how into these sorts of things you throw yourself. Its inspiring.



The only real downside of that level of enthusiasm that you put on your endeavours, is that when you feel that you've failed or made a mistake, you take it very hard. I worry sometimes that this means that you're going to be constantly disappointed in yourself, but hopefully its nothing quite so dramatic. I hope that you will soon get to a point where you realize that its ok to make mistakes.

Next month should be a fun one for you. Back to school, more skiing, hopefully some ice fishing.

I love you,

Daddy