It is crazy hot today. This is not unusual – although Kale’s party on Sunday was rainy, his birthday has been hot every year and if you look at the gallery of family selfies we’ve taken each year you’ll see us in various states of warmth – shiny faces, limited clothes, pink and tanned. Related: something I never though about until this first school year: a July baby means no complication or obligation of 22 cupcakes for the entire class.
I feel like this year Kale has become even more of a small version of me. His quirks and unique traits are frustrating for a moment, and then I flush with understanding because I see myself with such clarity I feel breathless sometimes.
Every year I write a letter to Kale and maybe one day he and I will read these together and laugh. Maybe he never will and I’ll just page through them and other blog posts like Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation when he accidentally gets locked in the attic and discovers old family movies.
This year’s family selfie on a bed.
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My lovely boy,
Well, here we are at six, with a year of school behind us. You’re a fun kid to hang out with, and you are nothing short of amazing. As your mom, it’s my job to believe that fact no matter what, but I think just maybe you are the best kid ever even without my bias of genetics. You are funny, and charming, and thoughtful. You have incredible manners and impeccable logic. You are so incredibly social. You are confident.
You can read now, and that just makes me so incredibly happy. You got your yellow belt recently, and graduated from Stage Seasons, your dance/music/movement class you love so much. This summer you also tried tee-ball, which was a huge hit. You still adore camping. You love Lego and rockets and science and math and books.
You miss school right now, and you were sad when summer vacation started two weeks early because of the strike because you weren’t going to see your amazing teacher or your classmates.
You are about to lose your first tooth and you’re fussy about how your hair is – you want it trimmed in the front and left to grow long everywhere else. You are meticulous in how you dress – specific shirts and shorts and socks – but you get yourself dressed so I don’t care what you pick. Your freckles are becoming more obvious – you will love those or hate those later in your life, but know that when I look into your eyes I see my own face blended with all of the best traits of your dad.
You tell me you love me all the time. You come into our bed on weekends and snuggle and clumsily try and rub my back or pat me soothingly and it is totally adorable. Please don’t ever stop that.
I will love you always and forever. Happy birthday, Kale.