You exhaust me. You amaze me. You take me to a place of frustration that no one else can. You are determined (that is the nicest way to put it.) I think that will serve you well in adulthood, but as your mother, you exhaust me, you amaze me, and you take me to a place of frustration that no one else can.
I am glad that school is starting again and so are you. You said, “Finally! I will have something to do,” as if the constant motion that you are in is somehow not enough for you. I am not even sure if school will be enough for you.
You are always conducting science experiments. They are always messy. My ears have become incredibly tuned to listening for the slightest creak of the stairs, a softly shut door, the faucet turning on (it almost always includes a faucet), to let me in on your plan.
I love to watch you learn and you do it so effortlessly (which is probably a good thing because you get incredibly frustrated when you do not “get” something.) One day you could hardly sound out words and now you read independently. Three days ago you could not ride a bike and now you are able to make it halfway down our street.
It scares me for you to grow up and gain more independence because you seem to have a near total disregard for your own safety. My head is always full of what-if’s and it is a constant struggle for me to let you go.
You are (mostly) incredibly loving to your younger brothers. I watch how you hug them, help them, watch out for them (thanks for alerting me to the bubblegum Colin was trying to eat the other day), and teach them (I will not thank you for teaching Colin to climb out the crib, though.) I think you have the makings of a great leader.
You start first grade tomorrow. I look forward to another year of watching you grow. And though I am not nervous like I was when you started Kindergarten, I am still feeling sad/happy (is that where the word sappy came from?) because you are one year closer to being a young man.
Knock their socks off, kiddo.