Friday, August 15, 2014

Dearest August, on turning four.

My precious peach, my Boo.

You are pure sunshine.  Peach juice and teddy bears and all things sweet and cuddly.


You are endlessly happy, greeting each morning with a stretch and a grin where you bite your lower lip and only expose your top two teeth.

You are Olaf.  Happy and optimistic and always rolling with the punches.  You find simple things amusing and amazing and are always delighted in life.  You ask the questions that grownups forget to ask, like "do chickens smile?"

Your arms are built for hugging.  You give and take kisses as a currency and always have a fair supply to share but also just enough room to accept a few more.  Tight squeezes, 10-hugs, kisses on the bridge of the nose...these are yours.

You are funny.  You amuse no one as much as yourself, but your observations and attempts at jokes are hilarious in their sweetness.

You are brave.  You are actually terrified of so many things -- loud noises, sharks, most dinosaurs, dozens of fictional characters, splashing water, and an endless supply of anxiety inducing scenarios -- but your brave little heart won't shy away.  It tackles these things over and over and over as you tell and re-tell yourself stories about how much you actually like these things.  How they are funny or interesting or secretly actually quite nice.  How you think they're cool.  But at night, you'll quietly tuck them away and out of sight so that they won't show up in your dreams.  You still have nightmares almost every night.  My sweet puppy.

You love to sing and quote things and say "Who said that?".  You love to dance and count.  Last night you were counting, just for fun.  Just because you like to make noise and counting is a steady drumbeat of noises.  You counted to 96 and then got distracted by something--true Olaf fashion--and started asking about the weather.  My brain couldn't take it.  "say 97.  97.  Buddy.  Focus.  97."

You never. ever.  ever. stop talking.  You talked 9 hours straight on our way to Ohio.  You talked 12 hours on the way back.  You have a million thoughts and ideas.  Most of them gallop out at a frantic start but then stop for a nibble and meander off into the middle of nowhere.  "I think that we should go to the...to the.... to... I think that...I think that we should... I think that we should go to the...the...the... I think that we should go to the park what we went to one time what had the....the....  I think that we should go to the park what had the slides.  Remember?  Wasn't that nice?  We should go to there."

Yes, my peach.

You love Frozen.  Elsa is your favorite, but you also love Kristoff and Sven.  You love Olaf.  You think Anna is wonderful.  Even Hans makes your list of nice guys--betrayal and sword play are apparently not villainous offenses to you yet-- and you sing every song despite only having seen the movie twice.  Naturally it was your first choice as a birthday cake.  You spent the day wishing for snow.

You lost me on that one, I have to say.

But who are we kidding?  You, my Auggie-doggie, my Snuggle-up-a-Gus, my AugusTony... you can have all the snow you want.   I'll be right inside singing "Summer" and preparing your cocoa.

Love always,
Mom


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