L . I . A . M .
L is for loving. you are a huge, warm, cuddly, sweet ball of LOVE. while some of your friends have already started to shy away from signs of affection with their family in public, you still welcome hugs and kisses from me and your daddy and sister -- no matter who's watching. when i walk into your classroom to volunteer with centers, you light up and rush over to plant a big wet one on my cheek. you love to snuggle in bed with all of us, either on a lazy saturday morning or at night after we read harry potter. and when i found out you still walked susanna down the kindergarten hallway to her classroom every morning, months into the school year? what bigger sign of love could there be?
I is for inquisitive. your thirst for knowledge is like nothing i've ever seen before (which is saying a lot, since by now in my career i've taught thousands of students.) you wonder, wonder, wonder all the time. some of your questions i can actually answer, like your question from the other day of "what happens when an exponent is negative?" nothing made me happier than to sit down at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and lead you to discover how negative exponents work -- and then marvel at how you surmised on your own what an exponent of zero actually means. of course, i have to admit that
A is for athletic. Lord have mercy, son, is there any ball that you cannot catch/smack/cream/dunk/kick/spin/tackle? (and forgive me because i'm sure some of those verbs do not really apply, but as your very unathletic mother, i really don't have a clue. but i'm learning.) no matter what sport you might be playing, you approach it with an unbelievable amount of focus and intensity and passion. sometimes it's a bit too much passion -- you put a ridiculous amount of pressure on yourself to win, and have a hard time forgiving yourself for mistakes -- but you care. you strive to better yourself and will practice for hours in the backyard or on the field or on the court. trying out and earning a spot on your elite soccer team has really opened your eyes to what is possible when you're surrounded by like-minded peers who all share your same love of the game. the mom of one of your teammates turned to me the other day and shared with me something i've heard throughout your years of being involved in team sports. "i just love watching your son!" she said. "he's so mild-mannered and polite off the field, but then he gets out there and is just tenacious. it doesn't matter if he's facing a kid who's two feet taller and a few years older -- he will battle them without fear for that ball. and he usually wins that battle."
and M is for mine. okay, full disclosure: i didn't have a perfect "m" word. i even pulled up a list of adjectives that start with "m" for inspiration, and there were quite a few that applied to you in one way or the another ... like maddening (when you obsess over that dadgum wii), masculine (you are 100% boy to the core!), mannerly, memorable, merciful, merry, mesmerizing, mild, mindful, mindless, modest, moody, motivated, moving, multi-talented, and even malodorous (after sweating it out in a game -- who knew you'd be so stinky at age seven?!). but none of them seemed perfect. and then, as i said prayers with you tonight and kissed your sweet soft cheek, it came to me. i was instantly brought back to the night in the hospital eight years ago. i remember it like it was just yesterday -- lying in that bed, your daddy by my side, as our doctor placed your small body into my arms. i stared at your sweet face, i touched your tiny fingers, i felt your heart beat. and i thought, "this little boy is mine." and you still are. you belong to others, surely -- you are God's child, first and foremost -- but please, never ever forget, that you will always be mine.
happy eighth birthday, my loving, inquisitive, athletic
love,
mommy
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