Six

Dear Feff,

This past week you lost your first tooth, got your first fat lip, and you…er…turned six.

Even though I expressly told you not to. Even though you and I had a deal.  I mean, I allowed you to turn five last year, after all.

“Don’t worry, Mommy. I’ll always be your baby.”

As if.

So you’re six.

And you can read and write. You can spell out holiday cards and how-to-carve-a-jack-o-lantern instructions. You can make rocket ships and dinosaurs and firetrucks out of little tiny Legos. (You did not inherit your amazing small motor control from me by the way.) You care about the way your hair looks. You try to get out of brushing your teeth. You like to go to sleep “with the door a little bit open and a little bit closed and the hall light on a little brighter and don’t forget to look through the window and sprinkle the no bad dreams dust, Mommy.”

You like to wear all one color. For instance, before school the other day, you put on a long sleeved black t shirt and black fleece sweatpants. “Look, Mommy! I’m a black man!”

Your new favorite game is Bird-opoly. You like to be the banker. And you also like to own ALL the properties. You aren’t above wheeling and dealing and making illegal trades. You’re lucky I’m your mom. Cheaters never win, dude.

Ice cream, chocolate, and lollipops are your favorites. You also LOVE cheeseburgers. When they’re cooked just right. Which means, by Daddy.

You love your brother and you spend much time trying to get him to laugh hysterically with your “Funny Show.” You always make sure to give him a big hug and a kiss goodbye when we drop you off at school. Later, at home, you totally kick his ass when you guys wrestle. But someday he’ll be big and he’ll kick yours.

Maybe.

You play baseball and soccer. You run super fast, you swim underwater, and now, you ride a two-wheeler beautifully all by yourself, even uphill. You have multiple girlfriends who you nose-kiss with (Parents, watch your 5-6 year old daughters. This behavior is not necessarily condoned by the management.) and you love kindergarten. You are also a magician on the side.

Prancey and Stripey are still your go-to Beanie Babies. They’re definitely suffering from glaucoma but what is the gift of sight when you get so much love? Right?

You are a hardcore rule follower. When you are the mayor of New York City, you plan to crackdown jay-walking, overflowing garbage cans, and dog poop on the sidewalk. You so have my vote, Buddy. Regardless of the fact that you call me Mom as if you were a 15 year old girl (Maaaaaaom!) when you’re pissed at me.

You may very well be the most fantastic six year old boy who has ever lived. There is no way I could possibly be prouder.

I love you so much and too much.

Mommy