eight

eight years ago you made me a mother.

some days I think, “has it really been eight years since i held you for the first time?”

time is funny like that.

the days feel long, and the years pass quickly.

now that you are eight, I have a dozen times 5 qualities i love and admire about you.

i love your thirst for knowledge. never in my life did i imagine walking through so many museums and libraries.  i always go for you, because you love it.

i love your eyes.  they have always been so big, blue, expressive, and lively. 

i love that you can recall experiences by what we ate.  you’re defiantly my son.

most of the time i love your intensity or “gusto” as you refer to it.

it is contagious.

i love that you still like to snuggle (when there is not a book in your hands). 

i love your blond hair.

i love how you understand concepts through science.  you have reminded me i am classified as a mammal because i will feed the baby through my chest.  thank you discovery channel.

i love listening to you play the piano. 

i just love you to pieces.

i love that you are trying your hardest to make good choices.  it makes all the difference.

this year you had a week of birthday celebrations.

it began in williamsburg, then jamestown.

once all of your grandparents were in town the party began. it started off with homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast. yum.

then we surprised you at school and let you pass out cupcakes to your friends.  you now have 22 kids who think you’re the greatest and 13 new enemies.  i will bring 44 next time. 

learning how to be a mother is difficult, i appreciate your patience and 8 years of forgiving love. we’ve grown up together in so many ways; just 23 years apart.

your birthday continued…

you chose carving pumpkins with grandpa’s and dad

(great idea, since it was on the list of events anyway).

then for your birthday dinner you requested me to cook orange chicken, red curry and rice served with green beans and jello.  yummy, you know how to choose a good meal.

grandma bean even made her delicious ice cream mud pie for you.

later in the evening we asked you to recite a story or poem before opening presents.  no one else could have pulled it off without notice but you. and you did, like you always do.

heart stopper is the poem you recited.

i’m standing on the stage, the plays about to start, and the only sound i hear is the pounding of my heart.

it was everything i wanted -- my fantasy…my goal. so i tried out for this play and got the leading role.

i learned my lines, i practiced, i came so very far, i dreamed about this moment—i was going to be the star.

so here i am on stage, and the play’s about to start. my life was so much simpler before i got this part.

happy birthday!

we all love you.