Letter to My Son on his 4th Birthday (2,102,400 minutes)

Dear John,

Happy 4th birthday spearmint gum puppy! No offense bud, but I have to say that I am thanking goodness the year of the “threes” is now gone. You never were a Terrible Two, but Three has been difficult. Some kind of light switch was flipped ON (I’m sure it served some beautiful developmental purpose), and try as I may to embrace it, I haven’t yet been able to.

October 2007

In addition to your burgeoning, um, independence, there were lots of big life events for all of us during this year that haven’t made things any easier. During your year of being three, we survived the following:

• Mom returning to work full time


• Dad changing careers (rightfully)


• The purchasing of our first home


• Two new/different schools for you


• The discovery of your asthma


• The decision to expand our family

November 2007 (Note that the shirt is the same. This is an important 3-year old trend.)

I know that it could’ve been SO much worse, and I thank God everyday for all of our blessings – the biggest of which is YOU.

December 2007

All of these events have helped me to come to grips with something that all parents must face at some point, which is that I cannot make your life perfect or easy, no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I attempt to make decisions with your best interest in mind, you are an individual person, separate from your parents, who must make your way in the world just like the rest of us: learning through experience, realizing that good and bad times come no matter what, and personally experiencing the economic principle of opportunity cost (for every option in life, there is a corresponding price). I have tried to help you learn these life lessons easily and with minimal confusion, but this year has taught me that ultimately I can only lend a hand here and there and be a model, for you must learn to accept the consequences of your actions (whether natural or doled out by grown-ups) be they rewards or punishments, fair or unfair. And that, my son, is very difficult for a parent to watch.

January 2008

One thing I can say about you with complete confidence: You are not a spoiled child. At least not according to the current American standard. In fact, I think it’s quite the opposite situation going on here. You have spoiled your parents. We are accustomed to a child who is smart, cute, funny, and actually doesn’t mind going to bed. You say “yes ma’am” and “no sir” and you use your manners almost without fail (except when Spiderman is on). When I hear other people talk about you glowingly (like teachers or babysitters or friends), I am reminded of how hyper-critical I can be, and I am often humbled and grateful in a way that nothing else in my life could precipitate.

February 2008

And when you say grace ... boy, when you say grace!

Angels sing "Ahhhhhhhh" in perfect four-part harmony right there in our dining room. A halo appears above your head just as you get to the part about "watch over Macy & Grandaddy and Nanny & Grampy and my tractors."

March 2008

Throughout this year of Three, I have often told people that you are not a “difficult” child, but rather, that you are “intense” or “challenging,” or “God’s answer to my prayer for learning patience.” If nothing else, you are a lesson in patience, understanding, and a vision of how everything comes back around again. And now that the light of Fourdom is here, I can finally see the fruits of our labor.

April 2008

This morning on the way to school, you wanted the “Flea on the Track” song, not the “Wheels on de Bus” (Dafe Womack is a new fave), and so, in keeping with three-year old tradition, you shrieked, “NOT THE WHEELS SONG, IWANT THE …” and then you stopped, took a breath, and changed your tune (pun intended): “Mom, could you please put on the 'Flea' song instead?”

May 2008

Again, the angels glorious harmony. This time, in the car. All around me.

June 2008

So elated was I at this self-correction that I pulled over and dug up some chocolate from the crumby zippered pocket of my purse and we had a second breakfast in the car.

July 2008

John-John, we are still cleaning up from the damage of the Category "3" Hurricane that came and has now gone this year, but of course there were some things we NEEDED to clean out. Like, for example, my quick temper, or my negative attitude, or how about my lovely proclivity to always feel that there is something that could be better ... something that just isn't right ... something to call an expert about. Yes, all of those things -- while not being completely eradicated -- have definitely been called into question during this year.

Because really: Can one family need an expert 5/7 days a week? Oh! If only I would expose myself to more smart, independent, happy, energetic children! Then I would see that all of you is perfectly normal and normally perfect in just the way that only my son could be. Hurricanes are good for showing you what really matters.

August 2008

For most of this year I have been completely convinced that there was nothing we could do to curb your "bad" behavior. And now all of a sudden, just as you're turning four, I see progress. I see wonderful, beautiful YOU shining through the developmental downs, the medicated moods, and the awful parental practicalities that have complicated this year for you. And I can't help but love you even more. FOUR TIMES MORE than I ever have before.

September 2008

You are my teacher, and my shadow, and my buddy. And just like I tell you every night:

I love you very much.

Nothing you could ever say or do would make me stop loving you.

I hope you have sweet and long dreams.

I'll see you when you need me.

If you need me, call me.

I'll be right here.

I love you THIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss much,

Mama