Dear Reeves,
Last week you turned three. All you wanted was an elephant cake and Chic-Fil-A, no big deal. This week you moved up to the 3's room at school, and that's a huge deal because it's in a whole different building, the big kids' building, away from the infants and the toddlers. And I have to admit, all this growing up, it's starting to get to me. Why can't time slow down?
It seems like just yesterday I was taking Jackson to the 2's room with you, just a few weeks old, sleeping in your carrier. Mrs. Karen came running out of the infant room, so excited to meet you, saying, "Ooh, is that my baby?" All I could think was, "No way, lady, this is my baby, so keep your hands to yourself." I wasn't ready to let you go.
But, oh, how blessed we were that you had Mrs. Karen and Mrs. Ophelia, Mrs. Brenda and Mrs. Marsha, Ms. Marjina and Ms. Tomika to love you and teach you and even baby you on occasion. They have been wonderful teachers for you, helping you learn your colors, the alphabet, and some crazy song about peanut butter jelly and a baseball bat.
As I think about all you've learned over the past three years, I can't help but realize all the things you've taught me along the way. Since you're three, and I love a list, let me share the top three things you've taught me.
LESSON 1: You can't judge a book by its cover.
If I had a dollar for every time somebody told me you are going to be a linebacker or a tackle in the NFL, I'd own the Panthers by now. People see you and your 99th percentile height and weight and immediately assume your future involves knocking people around for a living.
But that's only you on the outside. I see a different side of you, one that is tender and caring. Sure, you love to wrestle and are pretty rough and tumble, but you're also the first one in the house to say, "Bless you!" when Daddy sneezes, "You okay, Jackson?" when he falls down, and "You need a Diet Coke, Mommy?" when it looks like I've had a rough day.
Nurturing comes naturally to you, as evidenced this summer when I was in bed with a cold and you snuggled up with me to feed me Cheetos one by one until I felt better.
That's not the side of you people always see. Sometimes you'd rather stomp around like a dinosaur or scowl and growl like a bear, but I know deep down, you're more teddy than grizzly, always ready to give a hug or a high five. And I'm positive you'll be the one taking care of me in the nursing home one day.
LESSON 2: Laughter really is the best medicine.
I laugh at inappropriate times . . . funerals, faculty meetings, injuries . . . and before you were born, I thought those were the worst times to laugh. Turns out, there's an even worse time to laugh . . . in the middle of trying to reprimand a strong-willed child!
Without fail, at least once a week, when I'm trying to scold you or correct you, I find myself having to turn away so you don't see me laugh. You definitely know how to play an audience and how to diffuse a tense situation with humor, and I have a sinking suspicion this talent of yours is going to garner me a few calls from teachers in the future
Your creativity adds to your humor, and we really never know what you're going to say. I especially love our conversations in the car. They seem to bring out your best, including the story you told us last weekend about the boo-boo on your knee. You said you got it using a sword to save a tortoise that had mistakenly climbed on a panther's back when you were at the park, and I have to agree, that was much more exciting than simply falling down at the zoo.
Between your crazy antics, dancing, and singing, sometimes all Jackson, Daddy, and I can do is look at each other, shake our heads, and ask, "What is he doing?" Your deep belly laugh is contagious, and even though you often use it to crack my composure, our family is lighter and brighter because of your laughter.
LESSON 3: There's always room for love.
Okay, I'm going to be honest . . . when I was pregnant with you, I wasn't really sure how I was going to be able to love you as much as I loved Jackson. I know, I know, Mom of the Year right here, but hear me out. I'm an only child, remember, so I didn't have first-hand experience watching a parent love more than one child at a time. I just didn't get it.
Plenty of older, wiser moms assured me loving two wouldn't be a problem, and boy, were they right. From the minute the labor and delivery nurse put you on my chest, I was smitten. Daddy says I was like the Grinch, and my heart grew three sizes the day you were born.
I wasn't the only one unsure about your arrival--Jackson pretty much took one look at you and asked if we could send you back. But you easily won him over too.
"Where's Jackson?" is the first question you ask when you wake up, and you can't go to bed without giving him a hug (although that may just be a stall tactic!). You are so protective of him, often telling me, "You not talk to Jackson like that, Mommy," when I try to scold him. I know you'll eventually try to use your bond to overthrow me, but until then, I love watching your affection for each other grow.
As you get ready to learn with Mrs. Emily and Mrs. Rae this year, know that even though I get a little emotional wondering what happened to my Baby Reeves, I am excited to see how you're going to grow.
Of course, like most moms, sometimes I worry about your learning--Is it on track? Will you need to be held back because of your late birthday? And sometimes, I even unfairly compare you to Jackson. But the truth is, you're happy being you, and you've already mastered some of the most important lessons in life.
I don't know what you'll be when you grow up--maybe you'll write the next Harry Potter, complete with mythical animals and sword fights. Or maybe you'll be a doctor like Patch Adams, healing with laughter as well as medicine. Or who knows, maybe you really will be a left tackle, throwing blocks to protect the quarterback whose jersey has the same name as yours. I just don't know.
But I am confident that God has good things in store for you. May you always be in the 99th percentile for laughter and love. Happy birthday, Doodle!
But that's only you on the outside. I see a different side of you, one that is tender and caring. Sure, you love to wrestle and are pretty rough and tumble, but you're also the first one in the house to say, "Bless you!" when Daddy sneezes, "You okay, Jackson?" when he falls down, and "You need a Diet Coke, Mommy?" when it looks like I've had a rough day.
Your creativity adds to your humor, and we really never know what you're going to say. I especially love our conversations in the car. They seem to bring out your best, including the story you told us last weekend about the boo-boo on your knee. You said you got it using a sword to save a tortoise that had mistakenly climbed on a panther's back when you were at the park, and I have to agree, that was much more exciting than simply falling down at the zoo.
Plenty of older, wiser moms assured me loving two wouldn't be a problem, and boy, were they right. From the minute the labor and delivery nurse put you on my chest, I was smitten. Daddy says I was like the Grinch, and my heart grew three sizes the day you were born.