Felicidades, Mijo ... 1/14/2008

Thoughtfully, gracefully pensive. In nine years, this has not changed about you. Few tears. Slow ... tho' occasionally really, really quick ... to anger. Even as a baby. Sweet and quiet and so easy to love. And look at your hands. You have always studied, played with, twirled or squeezed your hands when you're thoughtful. Always. And, now, unfortunately and like your mother, you pick and bite them. Don't do that.

Don't do a lot that I did and do. But keep on doing all that you've done and you do. Keep on laughing. Keep on rejecting baths and your next hair cut. Keep on asking me to comb your hair. Keep on loving friends and making friends. Keep on leaning on me in church. Except when I just can't stand it anymore and ask you to stop.

Don't stop wanting to "go straight home and stay home." Don't stop saving your money and spending only as much as you have to on the best deal. Like a red Ripstik and football cards and Nintendo DS games. Don't stop having parties. Don't stop loving chocolate cake w/ cherries in it ... like Grandmommy makes. Or Chick Fil A. Or, Chinese food. Please always love, love, love Chinese food. Please don't tell me your homework sucks. Please don't say "sucks." Please be nice to girls. Nicer than you are to boys. Because they're girls. And because your Daddy is nice to me.

Don't stop listening to stories about when you were born. Like nine years ago today ... at 4:37 in the morning ... when you were born. And it was like nothing that had ever happened. Or ever would happen. Even when your little brother was born. It wasn't like that at all. No matter how you think your life changed ... and some days how you think it ENDED ... when your brother was born. You being born was EVERYTHING that was just you. Not him.

Some days I forget how it feels to be nine. In fact, I think I can say I've FORGOTTEN how it feels to be nine. What adult hasn't? That's why I love that you force me each day to try to remember. How you force each day to be perfect. And at the end of those perfect days you can tell me, "I loved this day."

And if I forget how to be nine and have perfect days, please show me.

Nine-year-olds like Krispy Kreme donuts and spaghetti and meatballs for their birthday meals. With bread to go with the meatballs. No salad or vegetables. Just meatballs. And milkshakes for dessert. And every food ... all day ... must be lit with a candle. Except lunch in the school cafeteria, because that might be against the rules. And rules are important. And being embarrassed is worse than breaking the rules. But, every meal needs at least one candle. Because it's your birthday.

And you're nine.

And you're everything.