You're rapidly leaving your toddler days behind and moving into full Kid status. And, man, do you let me know it. You insist on doing everything on your own, to varying degrees of success. Getting shoes and socks on you can handle. I just make sure I give you a 20-minute heads up before we're leaving and you're typically ready to rock by the time I'm heading out the door. Dressing yourself is still dicey - pants are easy. Shirts - especially hoodies - tend to trap you and you end up with your head encased in the inside-out garment with your arms straight up in the air and belly exposed, traipsing blindly about in search of rescue. Not gonna lie, sometimes I let this go on for a minute until I can compose myself enough to intervene.
You love to help me cook dinner, you set the table, you help with sweeping and dusting, you feed the dog - I've got it made until the day you start demanding allowance.
Hoodie removal aside, you're pretty good at just about anything you try. You love letters and words and are actually pretty skilled at coming up with your own. You still call yourself (and me and dad) Sassabroni daily. You also have a way of mashing up words in a way that totally make sense. If you find something "yummy" and "delicious," you'll call it "yumlicious." Exciting and incredible becomes something like "excredibling." At first, I discouraged this by saying, "That's not a word," until I realized neither were Quidditch or horcrux until J.K. Rowling created them for "Harry Potter," so as far as I'm concerned, go for it.
In all seriousness, everyone you meet tells me how advanced your language skills are. I know it's because you love to read and you listen to everything everyone says. You're at that age where I can't gossip about anyone behind closed doors because I know you will repeat exactly what I said word for word the next time we're around the subject of my dishing.
This photo, to me, sums up your "I got this" attitude. Just try messing with that.
The last year has been a huge one for you. You started swimming on your own (with the help of a life vest but still), you started preschool (which, shockingly, you LOVE), you had your first sleepovers, you got your first bike, you had your first school recital, you went to your first Disney on Ice show (the first of many, based on how much we both loved it), you went to your first amusement park, you started dance class. But the biggest change, I think we'd agree, was the beginning of your life as a Big Sister. This little guy has been around for about nine months now, and it's taken some getting used to on your part.
Luke is unabashedly enamored with you. Do not mistake the photo - he is not pulling your hair to hurt you. He's pulling your hair to bring you in closer to him. He gazes at you all day, panics when you're not in sight, laughs at everything you say and do, squeals with glee when you so much as glance at him and just generally believes the sun and moon rise and set with you.
You reciprocate his affection with an attitude most people reserve for filing their taxes.
Don't get me wrong - you're really good at helping me care for him. Need someone to fetch a diaper? You're on it. Help with a bath? Just hand you a washcloth. Hunt down a binky that went missing? No problem. But when it comes to showing him any kind of emotion beyond general indifference, you're just not there yet. Maybe once he starts walking and talking and can actually play with you rather than just steal focus when you're trying to hold my and Dad's full attention. Here's hoping. Otherwise, that boy is in for an early life lesson on the pains of rejection.
Outside of how you treat Luke, you are incredibly kind, thoughtful, empathetic, caring and attentive.You pay attention and you know when someone needs a hug or a smile. You relish the opportunity to help someone in need. You're eager to brighten anyone's day, even if it's with a friendly wave to an unfamiliar face in the mall (we'll work on Stranger Danger later). In those moments, I'm most proud to be your mom. That kindness is not something you can teach. It's innate, and I know in many ways it's your Grandma shining through in you. She always said, "Above all else, value kindness," and Kid, you give that stuff away all day every day. You remind me to be kind even when I'm not in the mood to be, and I appreciate that beyond words. Being your Mom has made me a better person than I ever thought I could be and I love you beyond words for that.
Everyone always tells me you're my Mini-Me, and I take that as the biggest compliment of my life.
You're the best, Crunch (yes, we still call you that). Here's to another fantabulous year.
Xox,
Mom
