Dear Four-Year-Old,
I'm sorry I'm writing this a month late, as though I forgot it was your birthday. It's true that, half the time, when I have to tell someone your birthday I get I tongue tied and mix up the date with your dad's or shout out the wrong year but I absolutely do know when it is. It's just that I didn't write because your grandparents were here and then Garrett's appendix exploded and he spent five nights in the hospital and then baseball finally started up and life happened and I kept needing to sit down and write and suddenly it was a month later.
Third child. I'm sorry.
Although, in actuality, if you had the energy of a regular child and not the intense energy of a blazing supernova, I might have more time. The truth is, I almost never write anymore and my reading pile continues to grow. I have good intentions to read and write. There's just little follow through.
I don't even know where to begin with this year. A year ago, we had just found out we were picking up our whole entire lives and hauling them over the river and through the woods to Dallas, Oregon. You still ask when you can go back and see your old house on Sunflower. Even though the street we lived on was called Starflower. It breaks my heart. I can also see you holding on to vague memories of people the way I try to reach for the contents of a dream as I'm waking up. I grasp but it slips through my fingers like spider webs. You will recall a memory and give me great details, but you rarely remember names anymore. It breaks my heart to realize that, in time, most of Utah won't even be a memory for you.
You've got such a smart brain. You can learn things so quickly when you take a deep breath and concentrate on the task at hand. Covid-19 hit in March and preschool was canceled so I home schooled you. You learned all of your letters and their sounds in record speed. I'm so proud of you for starting to learn sight words now. You're working on numbers, days of the week, months of the year, seasons and so much more. When we do shapes, you can even name the rhombus, the pentagon and the hexagonal prism.
It's been such a weird year with the move and starting preschool and Covid hitting and shutting down your world for months and months. Finally, FINALLY, you had your first t-ball practice. I assume you're the youngest on the team and, of course, you're crushing the ball. It was evident tonight, however, that we need to work on base running. You would just take off and sprint in whatever direction you saw fit. I'm not surprised that you were making great contact because, at your own home, you can hit a pitch over the fence--and do. We've had to retrieve many a ball from a neighbor's yard.
We play together every day and it is so fun to watch your creative mind at work. Playdoh, the doctor kit, Lincoln Logs, the magnet board, the drill set, play food, and Legos are some of the favorites when we have our special play time together. Speaking of Legos, you will sit and build them for very long stretches. I am so thankful for Legos. My feet and my compulsion to have a decluttered home are not actually in love with Legos, however. I'm also thankful for Disney+ which has provided many distractions during these strange times of isolation.
You love fruit and we joke that we cannot buy grapes or berries of any kind because you will walk by all day, taking them by the gobs. I guess if you're going to be a little pig, at least you're a healthy little pig. You're certainly growing! You are now in the 82nd percentile for height and the 67th for weight. Standing at 42 inches tall, you are now able to ride every single thing at Disneyland except for the roller coaster and Indiana Jones and some other ride that no one cares about. I think it might be the swings. Naturally, now, all I want to do is take you to Disneyland. But I can't. Because Disneyland is closed. Stupid world pandemic.
Maybe next year.
This year, you told me that you wanted Jesus to be in your heart so that you could go up to Heaven some day. So we prayed. Your little voice committing, as much as a tiny kid can, to follow Jesus was the sweetest thing. I know it's a tiny child's faith and it will need cultivating and watering and teaching so that it can grow, but it's a start--the most important of starts.
I love you so much. I hope that in it all and through it all, when you look back, you can see that love measured in support and marked in ten minute increments, first/thens, and, "Great job, Wills!" I hope you can one day see my dedication to the shaping and forming of you. You are the embodiment of my answered prayer as you run around with underwear on your head.
All my love, always,
Mom
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