Dear Lucas
Dear Lucas,
You are now 6 years old, which is rather astounding, in a way. In fact, you’ve been 6 for over a month now. I’m still adjusting to the change because it was a doozey this time. Somehow, just before your birthday, you went a little bonkers and we’re still trying to get our sea legs and learn to deal with the challenges of 6.
Despite your going bonkers, I’d like to state for the record, every day you become more interesting and more admirable. You are a genius, and it seems that everything you touch turns to gold. You amaze me about 14 times a day, even on days when you’ve been at school and in the care of others such as the Bennetts (your babysitters) or grandma VoVo for most of the day.
It seems that I’m always adjusting to you, rather than the other way around. Every time I think I have you figured out, you switch gears on me or change things up. You force me to ask myself each day, “What does he need from me most today?” Sometimes the answer is simple, like “love and guidance” or “forgiveness and fun” or “clear boundaries.” Other times, I must confess, I don’t always know the answer. Even if I figure it out, it may happen only when it’s too late to do much good, like on days when it’s “creativity and coddling.” I do my best to let you lead the way, while keeping you on a safe and reasonable track. You seem to thrive best when I do.
Sometimes I think, there is nothing on earth more loving that a little boy alone with his mommy. Other times, I wonder, who is this rowdy imposter who has taken over my baby? On the one hand, you have embraced all things cute and cuddly, and eagerly show me the side of you that wishes to play baby, or one-day-old sea otter, or bewhiskered bunny hopping through the friendly forest. It’s easy for me to play these imagination games with you; they unleash my own inner childhood imagination. We can trade story ideas back and forth and rarely clash. I mean, it’s really not hard for me to play the part of mother birdie or mother squirrel or mother chipmunk or mother manatee or mother dolphin, which is often the type of part you assign to me. I know that what you’re asking me to be is simply my essential role with a funny, high-pitched voice—caring for you, protecting you, gathering you in, keeping you safe and warm, and encouraging your creative force with my participation and encouragement.
But there is another side to your personality now—the side that yearns to push past the boundaries we set for you, that wants to turn safety on its ear just to see what will happen and how we will react. I realize I’ll see that side of you more and more often as you grow. It’s the side that wants to jump from the highest height and skateboard without a helmet and possibly someday even drink and drive. I look into your stormy eyes now and see an older boy fiercely looking back at me. Now you have secrets, though you don’t keep them too well yet. Now you have a new sophistication that I recognize.
I see it bubbling up in you. I am trying to honor it. I know that our relationship in the long run depends on my being able to see you as you are now, in each and every now we pass through together. You are growing and learning. You are stretching and challenging yourself (and your parents) every day. You face setbacks, sometimes. Occasionally you get hurt. But always you pick yourself up again (perhaps with some help and encouragement from me and your dad) and you dive into another new adventure.
You are discovering things on your own. I am no longer the gatekeeper of information in your life. You’re absorbing things too fast for me to control the influx of information and new experiences. You already know what subjects I’m comfortable discussing and what ones bother me, like killing and guns and warfare, and you show discernment and judgment by withholding thoughts and opinions you think I can’t handle.
But here is my promise: I choose to handle all you have to give me. I choose to be there even through the rough patches, even when you might think I don’t want to know. That is my particular challenge as your mother, I think: to face your growing up with honesty, grace, and courage. To wait for you at the edge of the dark forest while you find your own path through it. To play out the string with enough slack to let you roam, but not let go, so you may always follow it back. And to congratulate you on besting the thorns along the way.
All that, however, is a premonition. For now, our daily challenges are more simple: getting dressed in the mornings before school, stubbing toes, dealing with hurt feelings, or loneliness at night.
Sharing your mommy with Asher after having me all to yourself for nearly five years has been hard for you at times. That your age and privileges you enjoy also come with responsibility and having to wait often hasn’t felt “fair.” Mostly, I am delighted and grateful that you are able to open your heart to your brother while waiting for your turn. We have moved into a period of compromise: Sometimes he has to adapt to you, and sometimes you have to adapt to him.
The love and warmth you show to Asher most of the time makes me feel so proud of you. You seem to have taken on the big brother role with an understanding of your responsibility. You seem to realize that as soon as he is able, he will be copying your every move. I think this flatters your ego and makes you feel important and special. You cleverly distract him with laughter and games; nothing makes Asher smile like your goofy antics. Recently, Asher has started kissing you smack on the lips. The light in both of your eyes when you share this intimate moment is breathtaking. I pray to all the gods and goddesses of little boys that you two become good friends. But I know that it won’t always be easy living with each other, especially since your ages are rather far apart.
You have lots of skills now. The two years you have spent in kindergarten have developed them beautifully. You are a great friend to other children and by all reports are very well liked by all of your classmates. You play equally well with boys and girls. You’ve told me about games such as playing forest squirrels and hospital and such, which you and your school friends enjoy. You have learned to sew, dance, recite verses, and climb there. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better kindergarten experience for you. You have been in Eden for the last two years, and even though you are ready to move on and embrace new challenges, I think we will all miss at times the halcyon days of Mrs. Klocek’s Red Rose Kindergarten.
You are skilled at dealing with adults now, too. I am very often pleased by your ability to interact with our grown-up friends. You show off a bit and try out your weird brand of humor on them, but generally, you are polite, friendly, and patient. You seem quite able to have fun wherever we go even if you and your brother are the only children present. You regale people with stories of your prowess, your super cool stuff, your rock band (the Jumping June Bugs), your scientific exploration of other worlds, and your conscientious care for all creatures. Your adult friends smile and egg you on, eager to hear how outrageous your yarns will become.
In your own heart and mind, you waver between feeling small and insecure, especially in the face of emotional challenges, and invincible. Which tells me basically that you are perfectly on track for a boy your age. You are your own superhero. Lots of times, you are my superhero, too. I love your bravado, your machismo, your recklessness. In your mind, there is absolutely nothing you cannot create with your own hands. I also love your vulnerable self—the one who still needs mommy to tuck you in at night and sing you nursery songs. Lately, you’ve swung wildly between these two extremes and it’s been pretty confusing at times. It has helped your dad and me to learn that this is normal. Your teacher explains it thus: You are in the adolescence of childhood. A sort of mini-adolescence has descended upon you and we all just have to ride it out. It’s a good thing you are so very charming much of the time. And, truly, I’ve noticed the manic mood swings are coming a little less often in the last week or so.
Tomorrow is your very last day of kindergarten. Then you’ll be a first-grader. You are so puffed up whenever we talk about first grade. I am so proud of you. I know that you will succeed there, just as you have elsewhere. I admire your spirit so much; you reach out to the next new thing with open arms. You are chomping at the bit to read. I know that when the time is right, you will take off reading like a champ. I’m glad we didn’t push you to do it sooner because I think you might have missed out on all sorts of other occupations.
I’m rather nervous about how I can possibly keep you entertained all summer long. I’ve scheduled lots of fun activities in the hopes that they will keep you engaged, challenged, and entertained. I expect we’ll work on projects together, like baking, sewing, and digging: Our summertime gift to you is a big hill of dirt you can dig in all you like. I know that we’ll all have lots of fun together.
I guess that just about wraps up your Birthday Letter. Except I still have to say this: I love you, Lucas. You electrify my life. Happy 6th birthday—all year long.
Mama
