Dear Merritt,

You are never short on "good ideas," but one of your more recent involves you wanting a bunk bed, along with the invitation for us to sleep on the bottom while you slumber up top. Indefinitely.

Also, that every show should have a Christmas episode.

Aside from being unapologetically left-handed, you also have a neat quirk of counting tokens on your LeapPad2 from right to left. Perhaps this touch of Hebrew is what inspired an invisible "directions" scroll you have on your person at all times. We'll ask you to do something and, with great ceremony, you'll unfurl the scroll and begin ticking off the steps you will use to complete the task, yelling "CHECK!" after each made-up directive.

This is what your "directions" scroll looks like. Except with nothing in your hands. And vertical.

Sometimes we'll ask you to do something and you'll explain that you "can't" because it's "not on the directions," which is both clever and adorable, especially when you re-consult the scroll and attempt to show us how it's not there. Also, you still have to do it.

When we're in public and your need to "go" strikes, I encourage you to "hold it" while I figure out the closest restroom and our plan of attack. Inevitably, you grab your crotch and then I have to explain the difference between physically holding it and holding it with your mind.

Recently, Gilmore Girl had an accident inside and Mommy and I swiftly responded to the clean-up measures and putting Gil outside. When she returned, you began to fuss at her about peeing in the house and we explained that it was an accident and that she was already nervous and that we needed to treat her with kindness. And you got down on all fours and very quietly coached sweet Gilligan: "Hold your mind, Gilmore Girl. You have to hold your mind."

You seem to have grasped what a conscience is without us having ever explained the "shoulder angel" concept, or sung you a song about letting it be your guide. But forget Jiminy Cricket. Your tummy is your guide and often speaks for you, even on matters unrelated to hunger. "My tummy thinks we should go to OMSI today." "My tummy said I could watch a show."

And speaking of tummies. Recently you were jabbering and your string of incoherent statements ended with "Octover firteen." I mentioned that I was familiar with that date and you asked why. I explained that on October 13th, I birthed my whole world. And in disbelief, you asked, "DA EARF WAS IN YOUR TUMMY?"

And speaking of earfs. During a middle of the night wake-up-to-pee a few early mornings ago, you finished your business and out of nowhere woke up enough to ask, "Do you know 'grabity'?" And I answered, "I know graVity, yes." And there, in the darkness, with your pants and underwear around your knees, you explained, "It makes the apples fall ... and da earf does something." And, I guess because it was 2:20 and I was so proud of your smarts and I was also half-asleep and is there ever really a wrong time to teach science?, I gave you a mini physics lecture on the way back to bed. Because this is how we do.

Merritt. You are the best person we know. Even when you call us "bossy." Or when you complainingly whine, "Why are you always telling me about when I was a tiny baby?" You are the best person we know when you're suffering from the flu and all you want to watch is Barbie: The Princess and the Popstar. And when you're not suffering from the flu and all you want to watch is Barbie: The Princess and the Popstar. And then sing all of the songs from it with every ounce of your soul and being. You're the best person we know when you insist on saying "'gratulations" when someone wins. And when you say "it scuttled off" when a toy gets away from you. And for the pride you take in the things we make for you like "Gingerbread" (your tiny llama), your favorite technicolor dream blanket, and our happy home. You're the best person we know when you're working so hard to chew with your mouth closed and, when you swallow a bite, announce "MY CHOMPIES ARE LOUD," because of all that masticating you were hearing inside your head. And for calling yourself "Bob the Merritt" a la "Bob the Builder." And for making up stories in the style of If You Give A Mouse A Cookie. You know, like, If You Give A Duck A Broccoli and If You Give A Lamp A Pancake. Both classics. You are the best person we know when I point to Mommy and say, "She's my wife," and before I can finish what I was going to say, you point to yourself and assert, "And I'm your life."

You are currently obsessed with bath fizzies. Just little balls of sodium bicarbonate and citric acid that fizz away in the tub. You keep track of how many you have at any given point and are aware when the supply begins to diminish. During a bath a couple of weeks ago, I pulled out your last two fizzies and offered them to you. You accepted one, but insisted that we keep the last one for your next bath. I was floored by your willpower and ability to put future fulfillment ahead of instant gratification. This is NOT what three-year-olds do. But you're not the average three-year-old.

The next day we were getting off the interstate and it was rainy and very cold and I saw a man standing on the corner with a sign. I dug through the purse and grabbed all the cash we had and handed it off. This isn't an unusual occurrence, but on that day, you decided to ask why we do it. So I explained that the man on the corner probably didn't have a home or a bed or much to keep him warm or a steady supply of food, so we gave him what we had to help him out. You were puzzled. You thought it over. And then you asked, "Why don't we just bring him to our house? He can share my bed. He can sleep on my side. We can make him food. He can have our house!" It took me a minute to catch my breath, to fully absorb your wisdom. If only babes ran the world. But before I could respond or wrap my head around the size of your heart, you uttered, "He can have my last bath fizzy. He can take a warm bath and have my last bath fizzy!" And then I wept because I couldn't make words.

Seriously. You are the best person we know.

Love,
Momma & Mommy