Tuesday, August 23, 2016

To Auggie, on turning six.

My darling Auggie,

Never have I known a child so completely soaked, drenched, and dripping with love.  You simply must tell me twenty times each day that you love me.  You snuggle into bed with me and daddy every morning (sometimes at a respectable 6 or 7, often at a painful 3 or 4) and roll like a magnet to be attached to one of us. You rub our backs or hair, comment on how wonderful we are, and say things like "I'm so so glad I get to love you."  You seek us out all day long to give a hug or kiss.  You ask me how my day was and remember little details and ask about those, too. "How was your meeting this morning?  How is your project today?"

You're kind and compassionate. If I'm in pain or sad you ask thoughtful questions, you recite encouraging statements back to me that sound vaguely familiar, or you nod sympathetically and say things like "I'm so sorry that's happening" without trying to fix it.  You're one of the best emotional listeners I know, and you're just turning six.

But let's not get too swept up in the songs of praise.  You are easily the worst listener I know in almost every other respect.  If I ask you to do just about anything--move something to a different location, put on your shoes, sit down, get buckled, finish your breakfast, eat your lunch, put away your dishes, eat your dinner, go to sleep, stay asleep, sleep --- you usually completely and totally ignore me.  It's like you can't even hear the sounds I'm making.  Sometimes you calmly answer that you don't want to right now, like it was a mere suggestion. And occasionally you fall to pieces in total despair that you just can't.right.now. You're so amazingly sweet and considerate most of the time and so we let it slide more than we should.

You love math.  Glorious numbers and operations and squares and square-roots and sequences and patterns.  No matter the question, you answer the same:

"Augs, what's 6 times 5?"  "What? 6 times 5?  oh, 6 times 5. EASY. 6 times 5 is...30"
"Augs, what's square root of 49?"  "What? Square root of 49?  Oh, square root of 49. EASY. Square root of 49 is 7"


We've spent the majority of this year working our way through the entire L Frank Baum collection of 13 books about the Land of Oz. We're 2 chapters away from done with the last book. These are absolutely the most motivating currency ever.  You get two chapters each night, an extra if you shower, then 2 in the morning only if you stay in your own bed until at least 6 AM, and one more if you go to sleep in your own bed without a fuss after stories.  You bank these up and calculate them out.  Heaven forbid I miss a night for working late.  "Mom, don't forget, tonight we read 9 chapters...2+1+1+2+2+1?  Right?  Eeeeeasy.  9.  9 chapters."

You love GI Joe, Legos, talking, Ninjago, diamond mining, riding your bike, the Beatles, being handsome, arm-knitting, creating things, swimming, your cousin Baby Jack and his cousin Baby Jude,

You run into stuff, you climb walls, you talk constantly and get frustrated when we aren't listening.  "Yes or no, mom?  Yes or no??"  Oh, sorry dude.  Tuned out 4 minutes ago.  Were you still talking?  Yet you are the most sunshine-filled boy ever.  You find joy in everything.  You respond to stress with love.  You answer hurt hearts with a gentle pat on the arm. You hate seeing anyone hurt or sad.

For your birthday you asked for either a fish or for a dog.  When I pointed out we already have a dog you gladly said you would like to just get our current dog for a week. You were thrilled as you explained it: you would get her for the whole week so that week you would be responsible for feeding, walking, and otherwise caring for the dog that easily weighs twice as much as you. This would be your ideal gift.  Your other three siblings obviously understand you all too well, as the immediate response from Jorge was "just dig Daphne's grave, then."  Well-intentioned but hard-to-herd.  That's you.

You are my dreamer, my cuddler, my boy that dances to his own drum when everyone else is marching...and you compliment that marching and call it beautiful.  You feel huge emotions and want better for the world. You see patterns and opportunities that others don't, and that will change the world. You are joy and love and smiles disguised as a sticky-handed little boy with his glasses hanging off his nose and probably some food in his hair.

You are my puppy.

Congratulations on six.  I know five was magical, but six is sure to impress.


1 comment:

  1. Such a cutie. Well, they all are. And Jorge? The snark is strong with that one. ;)