Thursday, July 1, 2010

Happy Birthday, Thing 1

Dear Monk,

I waited so long to meet you.  I love you times a million times a million.  plus one.  and a million more after that.  I love how your goofiness can make me laugh even when I'm telling you to get your elbows off the table for the too manyth time.

I love how you say, "It's okay" when I apologize for snapping at you because I'm in a bad mood about something else.  But it's not okay.  I'm sorry.

I love how your hair turns death defyingly white after long days at the golf course and the pool.  I love how much you call your dad and grandma because family is important and you should always feel that way.

I love all your ideas for inventions and money making even when you describe them stringing words together that make no sense whatsoever in the known universe.  We'll get that hoverboard off the ground one day.  I am certain of it.

I love that you're a little awkward and still think girls are "God, Mom!  Shut UP!" even though I catch you checking out the teenagers with their long hair and their short shorts when you think I'm not looking.

I love that you snuggle up to me on the sofa now, even though you've never been much of a snuggler.  Because puberty is looming on the horizon and the last thing you'll want is your dumb mom playing with your hair while we quietly watch TV.

I love how you root for the underdog and comfort the kid who gets teased because you know what that feels like and you are a wonderful friend.

I love how you ask me things like, "Is there a right and wrong answer to an opinion question?"  I love that you can figure out that there's not with very little help from me.

I love how your feet are bigger than mine and you keep checking every day to see if you're taller than me yet.  And even though you try to exaggerate it with the very scientific, upward-slant hand-raise measuring technique, it hasn't happened yet.  Probably after you get back from Carolina.  You always grow when you go away.  I can't believe you're already getting shoulders.

I love how you love rock ballads and have wanted a garage band since you picked up your first air guitar at age 3.

I wish the first decade of your life hadn't been so chaotic with divorce and death and so many grown up things even grown ups have a hard time getting through.  But I know for whatever reason, this was the time you chose to be born and I am so glad you did because I don't know what I would have done if you'd never met my mom.  And having you in my life through all these years has made every horrible thing worthwhile.

I know your next 10 years will be filled with friends and sports and school.  And girls.  You'll have no idea how many of them have crushes on you and you'll rely on your younger brother's girl-wrangling skills because you have no faith in your own.  Although you should.  You're very sweet.  Girls will have every reason to love you however much you doubt that.

You'll win golf tournaments and hit home runs out of the park and pick the perfect school for science and sports and business.  And you'll come home for breaks and kiss me on the top of the head instead of the other way around.

And I will love you and love you until my heart swells to bursting because you turned out so well despite all the ways I have screwed up.

Happy 10th Birthday, babe.
Mom.

3 comments:

studioeightonesix said...

Absolutely excellent, Silver. I am sure he will cherish this when he is older. Mothers are the best thing to happen to little boys. Trust me, I used to be one. Enjoy him as much as you can. My little boy already has disowned me for his mother! At the ripe old age of 4! :)

Silver said...

Thank you, TJ. I'm feeling exceptionally guilty because I have been way lax on birthday party plans this year. I have left everything up to the outlaws. I didn't even make a cake! [dies of embarassment]

I did make a custom breakfast though and tackled him with hugs and kisses first thing this morning, so hopefully that will even things out.

Good luck with your little guy; he'll come back around eventually when he realizes his mom throws like a girl.

diane said...

Silver - a truly lovely post.
And studioeightonesix - my son was HUGE mommy's boy (and I don't understand why people think that's a bad thing) at age 4, but is all about dad at age 6 going on 7. SIGH.