Lord, where can I even begin with you? Well, how about with a "Happy Birthday", because that is, after all, the milestone that brings me to the keyboard - today is your 9th birthday. A measly 365 days away from double digits... then tweendom.. then teenage years... STOP! Or rather, I must stop.
Or I won't be able to finish.
So, today is your birthday, and I shall take a moment to celebrate that, and celebrate you, and commemorate you, and your amazing life and accomplishments thus far.
An example of your accomplishments, you ask? Let's start with that I would bet that you have said the word "chicken" more in a single year than any other person. Including chicken farmers (chicken ranchers?) Why? OMG WHO KNOWS!?!?! That is the thing with 8 year old boys - sometimes, I have learned, they are beyond comprehension. But at some point in third grade, you (and your cohort of friends) decided that chickens are AWESOME, and FUNNY and MAKE SUCH GREAT PUNCHLINES! So, I guess, looking back, accomplishments all around - to you for saying chicken so much I literally began to hate chickens (who have done nothing to be deserving of my animous), and to me, for not losing my mind!
In all seriousness, this stage of your life has been a bit bewildering in some sense - I often do not understand what is so funny, constantly wonder where you get your energy, and how you can manage to eat so much (which, even still, does not answer the energy question). Your father assures me this is just how little boys are, and despite being perplexed sometimes by the things that come our of your mouth, I have learned to just go with it, and, for the most part, laugh along as though I get the joke, even though I SO totally don't, but that's ok, because your absolute delight in how funny you think things are is worth smiling about anyway.
In stark contrast to the part of you that laughs maniacally at chicken jokes, you remain one of the most thoughtful and inquisitive people I know. You are social in a way that baffles your introverted mother, and ready to strike up a conversation with other kids or adults when given the chance. You are just as at home sitting on the couch talking to me about your day, and thoughtfully working through the social scene of third grade (of which there is, in fact, plenty to be worked through, and God help me, I hear this will only get worse!), as you are making friends with strangers at the playground.
There is little, if anything, more sacred to me than the talks we have when you ask me to work through something difficult with you. The fact that you trust me with your problems fills me with the greatest amount of pride, and such a sense of responsibility. I hope to never let you down.
When I started out this letter, I planned on ticking through all the many amazing accomplishments you have had in your 9 years, but I am afraid I got a bit rambly and lost the thread. But to be honest, its better this way, because I can't bullet point your greatness - you carry it with you through everything you do. I can see it in Calvin's eyes as they light up the moment he sees you. The way his chubby little face breaks out into a smile at the sound of your voice. The way he immediately gets "into position" (runs behind the couch) for the game you guys play.
I can see it in the way your sister worships the ground you walk on, though she would never admit it. You find her copying you to be the ultimate in annoyances, but I find myself using the same refrain I used to roll my eyes at when I was your age - (and mean it) - that copying truly IS the biggest form of flattery. And through the annoyances, you guys remain thick as thieves, and I hope that will continue, even though I know that growing up can challenge the relationship between siblings.
I love reading Harry Potter to you at night, when you alternate snuggling up with me or the cat, and sit so still and quiet. I used to wonder if you were even listening, but then I knew you were, because you wouldn't be able to hold in your predictions of what was about to happen every time we reached a suspenseful part.
I love how much you read. We cannot keep enough books in this house for you to read. We read with you, you read to yourself, you read at home, you read at school.
You are so stinking brave - making new friends at a new school in third grade is no joke. Add to that, you have some real ... not so great personalities in your class that would make me squirm in my own self-doubt and insecurity. And yet, you have remained so consistently you - not compromising what you like or how you feel or how you believe people should behave towards others.
You are my heart and you make me so proud I feel like I could burst.
May this be the happiest of birthdays.
All my love,
Mom
*I know this is 2 days late, and for that, I am sorry. In my defense, I was doing something I NEVER planned on doing or wanted to do... I was attending a school board meeting. The very thought of this sends shivers down your father's spine.
