Here we are, my sweet babboo. You're another year older, smarter, sillier, snugglier.
You're endlessly loving, curious, and creative. Lately you're also more prone to frustration. You've been a perfectionist for years. Your preschool teachers would tell us how you would recycle projects at school rather than bring them home because you didn't think they were good enough. By the way we gush and rave over your work and ideas, I can't imagine where this comes from, but you are generous and loving with praise for everyone but yourself. You're quick to call yourself "a failure" or "incapable" and it breaks my heart every time.
(Ok... Except when you insist with every cell of your body that you absolutely can do something that I know you can't and it's a mess and falls apart and you are frustrated. Those times I just nod quietly.)
You are so very bright. You adore math and numbers, strategy and puzzle solving, origami and Pokemon and grand schemes. You have to be told 1000 times to get away from the piano and stop practicing; to put a book away and go outside to play; and--yes--to put away your laundry and shoes and breakfast dishes. You're always invested in whatever passion your brain has latched onto and only the strongest of incentives (and sometimes threats) will burrow through that blanket of focus.
You are my funny philosopher and constant thinker. Everytime I think that you talk so much that there must not be a single thought that you don't speak out loud, you surprise me with something really intense, like a theory you've been pondering about how entire universes work. And I just marvel.
This summer we collected monarch eggs from our yard and have been raising them until they emerge as full grown butterflies. All three of you younger kids are enamored (Maryna is not a huge fan of any insects) but you are the one that sees magic in them. You see magic and mystery and science and math and patterns and schemes in everything, my man.
You are magic.
You are still the surprise we never expected. You are bright-eyed and quick to smile, always ready to give a hug and a kind word. You love to laugh and even more so to make others laugh. You are sometimes the calm little rock I can count on in a crisis to sit with me, hold my hand, and give me those quiet nods of understanding. To slip into my room and offer to rub my back and tell me things you love about me and ask what else might help me get more rest. And other times you are the crisis, whirling around in a storm of Auggie-energy and moods with manic giggles and jokes between real frustration and sadness. You are a complicated little puppy, my love.
You are my tiny guy (still wearing mostly size 3T and 4T despite this being the end of year 7). For a little slip of a guy, though, you are all heart, brain, courage, and ideas. You are light and fire and ringing bells, my boy. I can't imagine this circus without you.
Love you so,
|Pokemon cake, 2017|