And so, my best guy, it is your birthday. You've turned 8. I'm not quite sure how that happened, but that's not anything new. I'm often taken by surprise by such things.
Not by your birthday party, of course, which required my usual fretting and stressing over how to achieve high levels of FUN! among eight 8 year olds. (Which, I think we pulled off quite well, if I do say so myself.) There was a solid 2 hours of a wall of sound from the constant shouting of you and your friends.
Some might have said that immediately arming your friends with inflatable light sabers (that really light up!) as welcome gifts would have been a regrettable error in judgment, but it actually worked out well. You all occupied yourselves by running up and down the stairs and through the house playing a complicated version of Star Wars. Nothing broke and you burned a scootch of energy.
Some of you also had loud pistols. After a couple of more loud games and some very noisy pizza, presents (which included that loud, talking Darth Vader flashlight), cake and more hollering, we threw your coats on you and tossed you outside to run around the yard with your new weapons. 8 eight year olds with 8 light sabers on 8 acres of land is a lovely sight to see from inside, through the window. Your brave dad chaperoned all that, smiling evilly as he handed your muddy, armed, sugar infused friends off to their folks at the end.
I really like your friends. They are, to a person, nice and polite. Several of them are wonderfully quirky. I think you will have several lifelong friends and I can't wait to see you all grow up together. No. Strike that. I can certainly wait. It's all going too fast as it is.
You are such a splendid person, you see. Makes sense that you would have such good kids as friends.
You just make me so proud. Not only are you a nice, polite kid, but it's been the biggest thrill to watch you learn. Seems every other sentence starts, "Didn't you know..." and is followed by a fact, either true or false. But mostly true. It's hard to separate the truth from fiction when you're in 2nd grade, especially as some of the knowledge comes from the playground. And we all know what an infallible source of knowledge that is.
You are an honest guy. We are trying to teach you things like how to be polite when you are given something to eat that you don't really like. You now say that "It's not bad. It's not very good, but it's not bad." We're working on it.
You are soft spoken, unless at home or running with your friends. Your teachers are wanting you to speak louder in class. You raise your hand and volunteer but your answers are so soft. They all think you are a 'joy to have in class', though. That's code for a nice, easy, quiet kid. Like I was. Like your dad was.
Speaking of your dad, damn
, but you look like him. Such a handsome kid. Little girls are already writing you notes. Especially A. We like A. She's strong, confident, very nice. And her handwriting is excellent.
You are good at reading and math. You don't care much about coloring within the lines, but do it to please people when they ask you. Otherwise, who cares. You hate to write with the depths of your being. That's OK. I hated to write until a few years ago.
You love computer/video games. Especially real-time strategy games like Warcraft
and Age of Empires
. You also win them. You're not supposed to be doing that for a decade or so.
You want to please. Usually. Punishment for you would to be to tell you that I was disappointed in you. Or to make you write. Perhaps if I were to make you write about me being disappointed in you for the ultimate punishment, say if you took the car tomorrow and drove it to Florida.
You are very interested in rocks. And geology. You are getting a crystal growing set for Christmas and rock tumbler, so you can polish your collection, for your birthday. You are also getting a microscope for Christmas, so you and I can look at things like pond scum and stuff. This is what you get for having a science nerd for a mom.
You are incredibly patient with your sister. You are mostly really good to her. Mostly. Let's face it, when she's in a mood, she can drive anyone round the twist.
Best of all, you still love me. I know this won't always be the case, but you tell me so on a daily basis, without prompting or leading.
And that's the best thing of all.
So happy birthday, best guy in the world. You make my heart sing.
Labels: The Small-Handed Ones