Yes. Six. I have no idea how that happened either.
Your father and I were just talking about how far you have come during this past year. How you’ve moved from a little baby boy to a little big boy–if that makes any sense at all.
Your zest for life astounds me, quite truthfully. I’m absolutely certain we will have a conversation like this some day:
You: Hey, mom! What’s going on?
Me: Not a whole lot. Dad and I just walked the dog and now we’re trying to decide if we’ll go out for Chinese or Mexican. You know. The usual stuff. What are you doing?
You: I just jumped out of an airplane, mom! It was awesome! It was such a rush and I can’t wait to do it again.
Me: You did what? (Dad hears the three words he’s heard before and his ears perk. Mostly because he might be a tad-bit jealous since he’s like this, too, and his ninny wife won’t let him do stuff like ride a motorcycle at 125 miles per hour in a rainstorm. You come by in naturally.)
You: Yeah, mom. It was awesome. I think I’m going to hike Mt. Everest next week and maybe I’ll camp across Europe after that. I don’t know yet.
Do you get my drift on this? I don’t know what you’ll be like when you are off on your own and thankfully, we have a while before this happens, but if you keep taking life by the horns the way you do now, son, mark my words: we’ll be having the above conversation at some point.
Your passion holds me in awe, little big boy.
I’m not sure if this is the right time to tell you I once struggled with massive amounts of guilt with you. You were only a baby for fifteen short months before your younger brother came along and knocked you off your post and suddenly, I expected you to start pulling your weight and get your own juice once in a while and why on earth can’t you make dinner yet?
We had some rough patches when you cried all the time about every little thing and I was certain it was because daddy and I had the nerve to have another baby while you were still so very much a baby yourself.
If it helps at all, you should know we didn’t plan it this way. God planned it and when I figured this out and truly accepted it, the guilt surrounding you began to fade.
You’re quite clever, son of mine. You know what you want and you go for it–you won’t stop until you get it. Your determination is unshakable and you are, by far, the hardest worker in our family. The fact that you find jobs like cleaning the toilet bowls and picking up dog poo in the backyard to be fun is enough to make you my favorite. But don’t tell the others.
There’s so much of you that’s becoming a big boy now, love. You long to be tough and fist-bump with dad during soccer practice, to hear him say what a cool warrior you really are. I see you watching him out of the corner of your eye, hoping he’ll once again notice your toughness and how grown-up you’re becoming.
But then you might fall and hurt your knee and suddenly, you’re my baby again. There’s still some little left in you and I’m savoring every last drop, son.
I savor the moments when you are fresh out of the tub, curls splayed against your scalp, and a soft voice says, “Will you sit with me, mama?”
I savor the moments when you hug me out of the blue and ask for a kiss.
I savor moments like the other morning when we were lounging in my bed and after having a funny conversation, I said “I just really love you, Samuel.” Only to hear you answer sincerely and emphatically, “Me too, mom. I really, really love you.”
I savor the moments when you talk about the Bible because I see you are really starting to get it. You are beginning to internalize what Jesus did for you and how much He loves you.
Most of all, I just savor you, bud.
Because while you are just six years old today, I know it will feel like I just sat down for a moment and suddenly, we’re talking about jumping out of airplanes. God help my soul.
So forgive me, son of mine, if I squeeze you a little too hard during these years you begin to straddle between the little big boy years and the big boy years.
I get you for such a short time.
And forgive me when I lose my cool and forget how short the time is because it will happen. I’m human. You know this by now. I am one imperfect woman in need of a Savior.
Happy Sixth Birthday to the boy who steals my heart with those dimples. Who gets out of too much with those chocolate brown eyes and ten mile long eyelashes. Whose laugh dances through the walls of our home early in the morning and doesn’t stop until we force it quiet at bedtime. Whose zest for life is an inspiration to my own.
May I continue to learn through you, my dear Son.
I love you more than you could ever imagine (which is why I don’t want you to grow-up and jump out of airplanes),
Pretty much a typical day at our house…