Memorial Day

Dear Connor,

As I write this, you are sleeping in the next room at Grammy and Pop's "Turtle house;" the cabin at Turtle Lake. I don't know exactly what the future holds for our family, but I am fairly certain that you will spend much time in this house. When you finally read this, I think you will be so familiar with the cabins Up North that you will picture these rooms without meaning to. That's my hope.

Anyway, although this was not your first time up here--we've been here a handful of times since you were born--this is certainly the first time you were aware of your surroundings in a new way. We were able to talk it up before you came, and you might not have understood exactly where we were going, but you knew that when you got here, it would be to see Grammy and Pop, and the boats, and the fish.

Baiting the hook with Pop.

The biggest plate of "kid spaghetti" I have ever seen. You made it through half.

You're struggling a little bit right now between being a big boy and being a baby. With your sister due to arrive in about six weeks, both your dad and I understand that this is the last bit of time you have with just us (trust us, we get it: both of us told our parents to take Aunt Becky and Uncle Eric, respectively, back to the hospital after a few days). So we weren't terribly surprised when you asked to sleep in the baby crib that is set up for Louise. We were surprised when you stayed in it for a three hour nap. You're also pushing your limits as a "big boy"--you're starting to understand that you don't really have to do everything we ask (tell) you to do, and it's putting you in time out a lot. Listening and following directions is the biggest point of contention between the three of us right now. When you read your favorite book, Blankie, and got to the part when your baby had a time out, you told us gravely that the "baby no listen his Mommy Daddy."

Naptime in the baby crib!

This was a weekend of new adventures, including tramping through the "forest" between the two cabins (how deliciously terrifying), and playing in the tent with Grammy. Uncle Joey showed you how to use the spray nozzle on the hose, and you promptly nailed your father with a heavy stream of water directly in the crotch. I laughed so hard that I ran into a chair and bruised my ankle.

You and your dad were playing in the rocks by the lake when you fell in. 

You're stoic; you laughed it off.

I hope that by the time you read this, these are new memories that I gave to you. I hope that you have so many memories of Turtle Lake that you think there wasn't a first time; you had simply always been there. In a way that's true. But although you were there before this trip, this is the one I will remember as your first. You created a space for yourself up here, and when we come back later in the summer, I expect that you will remember it, perhaps even give a brief tour to your sister before running off to find your fishing pole.