Five years old--such a milestone. The year you will start kindergarten…and your
little world will expand to things outside of our family of four and our
home…outside of the things we choose for you to experience. I am so simultaneously excited and
apprehensive about that. I am struck
this year, even more than the previous four, by just how good we have it. By just how simple our life is. By how much control we have over what you are
exposed to, what you hear, what you see, and how this year will be our first
experience on losing that little by little.
Struck by how this is the last little window of time when you can be
100% kid---nowhere to be, no responsibilities or obligations, just a little 5
year old boy who can spend his day in his jammies playing legos, swords, watching
cartoons, eating goldfish on a whim.
About what a blessing it is to be able to bear witness to these things 4
days a week.
If I could go back in time, I would tell myself to
chill. To calm the heck down. To worry less about my career. To worry less about your language and social
development and exposure to great preschools.
But then I think about the blessing of being able to afford a great
nanny for you and a great speech therapist and the huge blessing of being able
to define the terms of my career now so I can maximize my time with you and your sister.
And I think about how bright you are and how much you like to learn, and
I wonder if we would be where we are without all of that worry and relentless
persistence I’m notorious for. It’s the
age old motherhood question…are my children as they are because of me or in
spite of me? A little bit of both I
presume though I’ll never know. About
the only thing I know about motherhood for sure is that it is done out of the
fiercest, rawest, most desperate love imaginable.
We are just crazy about you, Bo. You are so darn lovable. You are quick to smile and giggle. You are still so affectionate. You pass out hugs and kisses and sit in our
laps and hold our hands. I dread that
changing the most as you start school.
You are verbal about your love, too.
You say ‘I love you’ and ‘I missed you’ multiple times a day
unprompted. You are so much like your
dad that way.
You are particular and a kid who likes to know the routine
and stick with it. You ask everyday what
we’re doing and remember which day is for what (church, daddy staying home all
day, preschool, etc.). You have in your
mind how something should work/go and when it doesn’t, you get very, very
frustrated. Most of the growling is gone
(your previous go to method for expressing frustration), but you still get very
upset. Your little heart races and you
are just exasperated. You like to do
things “right” (your idea of it any way), and when things don’t go your way,
you’re quick to give up. Son, I hope we
figure that out together. I see so much
of me in you in that way. I look back on
things I really wanted that I gave up on because I didn’t measure up (in my own
mind). If I can work on your heart with
one thing this year, it will be to stick with it, and to be easier on yourself
when things don’t go exactly as you have in mind. There are so many life experiences waiting
for you to just enjoy; not because you’re the best at them, but because they
are inherently enjoyable. I want those
things for you.
Notwithstanding your love of routine and predictability, you
have been an absolute champ through two moves this year. You have slept wonderfully in both houses,
have started a new school with ease, have jumped into a new routine, have
transitioned to a new Awana program, new Bible classes as we’ve visited different
churches. I could not be more proud and
relieved at the way you’ve handled it all.
It reminds me that ultimately, our little family is your world. And if we can keep that constant and healthy
for you, things happening outside of that will have a gentler
impact.
You are a big kid. I
shake my head at the 5 pounder we brought home who took forever to get on the
growth chart and stayed in the 10th percentile. You are solid. You are built so much like your daddy, right
down to your flat feet and especially your hands. You have so many of his mannerisms and
expressions. You furrow your brow the
same way and carry yourself the same way.
You have a head full of hair and a contagious smile.
You are intuitive. So
much so that it worries me a little. I
was an intuitive child, and I’m not sure it boded well for me. You pick up on our moods and internalize them
often. If I’m frustrated or angry about
something that has nothing to do with you kiddos (work or something else), you
pick up on it and ask me if I’m happy with you.
Sweet boy, I hope to work on your heart about this too this year. It’s great to have an intuition about other’s
feelings. You will be a better man with
empathy and compassion. But people will
have feelings and say things and act out, sometimes at you, when it really
won’t have anything to do with you at all. I pray I can channel your intuitiveness into
a positive thing and help steer you to a place where you don’t internalize too
much.
I had one of the sweetest moments with you recently. We read The Giving Tree together. The story goes that a little boy loves to
play with a tree by his house, and the tree loves the little boy. The tree cheerfully gives and gives to the
little boy and the little boy takes and takes until the tree thinks it has
nothing left to give, as it’s been reduced to a stump from giving so much to
the little boy. Yet in that moment, as
the little boy has grown into a tired aged man, all he needs is a low place to
sit and rest. When I finished, I looked
up, and your lip was quivering and your eyes were full and the tears started
falling. I was shocked that you would
pick up on the sweetness and profoundness of the story. I asked you what was wrong, and you kept saying
that the boy just kept taking and there was nothing left of the tree. You were so upset about it, and it took
awhile to console you, but we had the sweetest talk about it. It was such a special moment for me because
meaningful books and you are two of my favorite things, and in that
moment, they intersected. You have such
a soft heart, son. A soft, beautiful
heart. I love it. If only I could protect it…
You love to be tickled, to read, to sing songs and be sung
to, to play with Brody and your other cousins, to visit the farm, to do
anything with Daddy, to play with Kate (you are such a good brother), to sit in
my lap and sing/read/watch movies with me, to play pretend anything, to make up
stories and games, to play legos (but not build the items in the directions…you
prefer to make your own “latest inventions”).
You love to watch Ninja Turtles, Rescue Bots, How to Train Your Dragon,
Planes Fire & Rescue (earlier in the year, it was Paw Patrol and Peppa Pig). You love playing with your sister, but you
have a very specific idea of how she should play with you. You’re hands on. You like to build train tracks, car tracks,
Lincoln Logs, marble runs, and anything Lego related. You’re not much for writing or coloring.
You are all little boy now.
That was true at 4, too, but it’s even more so now. I love it.
You are so fun. The things you
say and want to talk about delight me.
When I think of you, I think of how much you delight me for no other
reason than being just who you are, I think about how much joy you bring to my
life, and I think about what pure grace you are to me. Mothering you and your sister is the most
significant thing I have ever done and will ever do. That God would allow me the privilege remains
a mystery. I can’t wait to see what this
next year brings. Whatever it is, we’ll
face it together.
