Dear E.J. - Five Years

My dear E.J.,

FIVE. YEARS. OLD. Goodness, kiddo. GOODNESS. My baby is five years old, and Mama has been a blubbering mess about it for the past couple of months now. It just seems cruel to have your preschool graduation, kindergarten enrollment (and school tour) and fifth birthday all within the span of two months. Who schedules these things? THINK OF THE MAMAS, people. The poor, bubbling-over-with-emotion mamas! It just ain't right.

Yet despite my teary eyes and that lump that has taken up residence in my throat, here we are. With your fifth birthday and rising kindergartener status you officially transition from toddler/preschool-hood to an actual KID-kid. The fact that you're just the coolest kid does soften the blow a little bit, but I've spent probably the last six months or so clinging to any remaining traces of your babyhood - your soft cheeks, your small hands in mine, the way you can still just fit in my lap and melt your body into mine for a "snuggle," your big brown eyes, your mispronunciations. It's all so good and so precious and it's all on its way out, and that's just a lot for me to take in. Oof. Let's come back to the sappy stuff in a bit, shall we?

You did so well in school this year! You went to preschool four days a week for four hours a day. You loved your teachers and had some sweet little friends in your class. You did very well on all your testing and your teacher had glowing things to say about you at our mid-year conference with her. Daddy and I spent a good bit of time this year debating whether to give you another year in preschool or send you on your way to kindergarten next year, but ultimately decided that you are definitely ready for kindergarten in all possible ways.You are very bright and excited to learn, as well as outgoing and friendly, eager to make connections with your peers. I think you're going to do very well in kindergarten.

One downside to your academic success this year was that you learned to properly pronounce your "Ls" within the first month or so of the school year and much to my utter dismay. I knew that day would come, and did my best to record all your sweet little pronunciations on video before they vanished, but I can't say I don't still sometimes long to hear you say "Ewwie" instead of "Ellie," or "Achiwwes," or "pway." Man, that was all so cute. You're still holding on to a couple, like "bessert" instead of "dessert," and so help me, our whole family will be having bessert after dinner for the rest of our lives if it will keep you thinking that's just what it's called. DON'T TOUCH BESSERT, kid. Just leave me that one.

Your preschool graduation was the sweetest, with a highlight being the pre-graduation slideshow they showed on the screens, which included a photo of each graduate and what they said their favorite part of school was, and what they wanted to be when they grow up. We were all very eager to see what you would say you wanted to be, because in just this school year your answers have ranged everywhere from Captain America (because of your July 4th birthday) to an engineer ("builder") to a North Pole elf (you worried a good bit about if they would train you to make toys, or if you would just have to know how when you got there). Ultimately, you settled on Spider-Man, which is a fine choice. You've already told me you have been feeling your Spidey sense starting to tingle so it seems you're well on your way!

You continue to be a remarkably happy child, who still laughs until he hiccups and loves to be tickled. Your charisma is still a force to be reckoned with, and nearly everyone who knows you just becomes so smitten with you. In fact, they don't even have to know you. At t-ball this spring, the other moms would gush to me about you - how adorable you are, how much they love you and love watching you. They didn't know you, only saw you on the field, but somehow you captured their attention and admiration. I mean, I get it. I feel the same way. But it always makes my heart swell with pride to hear other people tell me about the positive impression you have left on them. You're something special, kiddo.

Of course, as you are my second child I know by now that the toddler/preschool years are also fraught with angst to at least some extent, and I can't say we haven't had our share of tantrums, obstinance, and limit-testing this year. It has seemed to ebb and flow, really. A particular favorite pastime of yours lately is tormenting your sister, as you learned very early on just how to push her buttons and you do so often and effectively. I know this is par for the course with siblings, and I do my best to remain a neutral party and help you kids work it out, but sometimes, man...the fighting drives me crazy.  Last year at this time, you guys were getting a long so well that you were having sleepovers in each others' rooms every night, so much so that we shifted all our upstairs bedrooms around to give you and Ellie the master bedroom to share, complete with bunk beds and everything. I have to say, I would not make that same decision this year! But, what can you do. I'm sure it's good for you, right? And it's not all fighting; you guys do enjoy each other and play together quite a bit. I just wish the scales tipped a little more in that direction! In due time, I hope.

You are quite a thrill-seeker! You LOVE rollercoasters and other rides, and have ridden everything you are tall enough for at Disney World. Not only do you love to ride these thrill rides, you're also the first of us to put your hands up. Recently, you also got up your nerve to jump off the high platform into the foam pit at the gymnastics studio (where we will be hosting your birthday party this weekend!), and you learned how to swim underwater and do cannonballs! It took a little convincing to get you to try a jump in the pool without your floatie, but as soon as you tried it, you were an unstoppable cannonball-ing machine. I think you did nothing but cannonballs for the last three straight days of our summer stay at Papa's house.

You also still love all things spooky/Halloween-related, especially The Nightmare Before Christmas. This year for Halloween we dressed up as the main characters from that movie and boy, did you rock the part of Jack. We went to Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween Party at Disney World and the costumes were a hit - but not only did you look the part, you even mastered Jack's walk and mannerisms and Jack-walked all over the park. That's your style, though - you really get into character! This year also brought lots more Star Wars costuming at Hollywood Studios, plus TONS of superhero play and dress-up. Spider-Man has remained your favorite superhero, though you also seem drawn to Black Panther and lately, Thanos. You always have had a soft spot for bad guys!

I mentioned t-ball a moment ago, but I have to talk on that a little more because boy, did THAT become huge this spring! This year we joined a new league closer to our house, and it was a huge success. Daddy was an assistant coach in the fall, and in the spring he was your head coach and Ellie joined your team, as well. By the end of the year, you showed great improvement, but what really blossomed was your love for and interest in the game. You now ask to go outside and play baseball with Daddy every afternoon, and he is happy to oblige. You're always excited to tell me when you "crushed it" and you work hard to follow Daddy's coaching, with great results. You also have elected Mike Trout as your First Official Favorite Baseball Player, thus bringing a little Angels fandom along with it. Baseball cards are everything to you right now, and you have a big binder full of them and always want more. You study them and memorize the details and organize them by team, going back over them again and again every day. Such focus! I love that.

We had a bit of a sad family event this year: we lost our dog, Achilles. He passed away unexpectedly and I was unprepared for how to handle it with you. I'm not sure you really understood, as you would sometimes pray for Achilles to come back to our house after he was done in Heaven, or for him to get all better and come back. I am comforted that you won't have much memory of it, and so you were largely spared the heartache of losing a pet this time around.

A few more notable things about five-year-old E.J.: you have a great imagination and love to tell stories, especially about things "Bunny" does (always very elaborate adventures!). You love to climb and jump off things. You like for me to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" to you before nap time. Your favorite color is blue, food is peas and macaroni, restaurant is McDonald's, and toy is your Bunny. You eat VERY slowly, except at TacoLu, where you are always the first one done. And when you are finally done eating, you announce it to the world with a buzzer-like "hmmmm" noise. You love to dress up in costumes and build robots out of Legos. This year you decided you love "handsome clothes" and wore a lot of seersucker, suits and bowties. You can open your car door by yourself now, and get yourself a cup of water. You love books and are able to read some sight words. You sing in the Littlest Angels church choir. When you have a nightmare, you call us in just to tell us that you had one; you require no additional comforting aside from an "I'm sorry, buddy" and a quick re-sing of "Twinkle, Twinkle." You really just need us to know.

This birthday is a tough one for me, not only because you're getting older and transitioning from babyhood to childhood, but because it is a time of transition for me, too. For over seven years now, my identity has been wrapped up in being a mama to small children. I have almost always had one or both of you by my side. I have been needed each day, more moments than not, day in and day out (and nighttimes, too) for the better part of a decade. When people ask me what I do for a living, I say "I stay home with the kids." But starting this fall, the kids won't be at home anymore, at least not in the way they have been. I have no more babies to wrap to my chest and no more morning story times to attend. I have no more fussy little ones to strap into the stroller and walk to sleep. I have no babies to nurse. My purse is no longer filled with snack and sippy cups and spare diapers. When we go to a playground, I can sit on a bench or chit chat with friends without worrying about a little one's imminent doom on the climbing equipment, or having to endlessly push someone in the baby swing. My schedule is no longer dictated by anyone's need for a nap, and more often than not, we all sleep through the night. In the mornings, no one needs me to retrieve them from their crib - instead, my babies are downstairs preparing their own breakfasts.

In a way, it's freeing and exciting. The world is opening up to me again (I even read a book this month! For the first time since before you were born!). With your growing independence, I'm finding a newfound freedom and frankly, the possibilities of what to do with it are a bit overwhelming. I'm at a crossroads, and I'm having to reshape my identity as a mother and an individual. Without babies at home requiring my constant care, how will I spend my days? What is the best use of my time? What will at once keep me free to be there for you and Ellie, but also give me fulfillment outside of the home? What does my future hold? I'm a mother of school-age children now. I'm no longer a mama of littles. It has taken me all these years to shift my identity from my pre-kid self to this, and now I'm on the precipice of another change. The last change rocked me to my core and I wasn't prepared to have to navigate another one so soon. It's an aspect of motherhood I was wholly unprepared for.

Of course, the world isn't just opening up to me - it's also opening up to you, and to us as a family. You have so many new things to look forward to as you start your school years, and with your increasing self-sufficiency and we're able to do a lot more with you kids in tow, which is very exciting. For example, this summer we have a two-week road trip planned with stops at four baseball stadiums, because that's what you're interested in. We're also taking you and Ellie to New York City for the first time, which will be fantastic, and is not something we would have considered with a baby you. But big kid you? Why not! We're able to spend longer days out in the world, enjoying fun activities and each other. We're able to stay up late and try new restaurants and explore new places. This new chapter promises to be a fun one - different from the last, sure, but really exciting in new ways.

And so, we close the chapter on babyhood, both for you and for me as a mother. You were my last, though that is something I wrestled with a lot this year. But you are. I know that my wavering back and forth about wanting another baby is less about the desire to actually add to our family and more about just longing for more time with the babies I did have. It went so fast, kiddo. It was such a special time and it's crazy to think you won't remember most of it. Hopefully the feelings of love and security and joy and family togetherness will stick with you, at least. Because we enjoyed all of those things in excess over the last five years.

E.J., what a joy it is to be your mother. Thank you for the greatest five years. Now, let's turn the page and see what happens next.

Happy birthday, nugget.

All my love,
Mama

* * * * *

My dear E.J.,

"What's up little buddy?" If soon-to-be-five-year-old you were here, you would almost certainly say, "Good," because you always do. Until now, I've never really thought about it other than as one of those things I am never going to correct. Those things, like "bessert" and "Los Angels" are the cutest (once you are sure your kid is going to figure it all out someday). Thinking about those exchanges makes me smile because I can hear how sincere, friendly and content you sound when you say it. And that feels like a good start to a summary of you this past year.

I also think the E.J. "good" is close to how I would describe our relationship at five years old. Again, not the word itself so much as the way you say it. I think we spent more time together this year than we ever have, including "boys' days," reading, battling at the park and in the front yard after work, and in heart-to-hearts as you start to process real concepts like fairness. One of our boys' days included a morning out to the baseball card store, which has kicked off a really fun hobby and may have caused your first "favorite player." We bought a bunch of packs of cards to open at McDonald's and I was telling you who some of the best players were that you might get. Low and behold, the first name I mentioned was also the very first card in your very pack. We've since acquired matching jerseys and watched him hit a long home run in person on Father's Day. In case the rest ends up being history, so to speak, I thought it was worth chronicling here.

If I'm being honest, I'm also a little nervous about keeping up this momentum. So far, raising a son has absolutely everything I could have ever imagined it would be, but we're only just getting started. While you are just five, I am old enough to know what a fine line the world will need you to walk between masculine leadership and thoughtful compassion. I want you to be competitive and strong and confident, but it is even more important for you to be a great husband and father who considers the needs of others before yourself. I don't have the closest relationship with my father or a clear model for the best way to help you as you grow up. You are such an amazing little boy with all the potential in the world, and I guess I am starting to process how great a responsibility I have to help you realize it in a healthy and productive way. I know these things are on my mind because of the current political climate, but I also know that you're only five and don't have to grow up for a little while yet, though you have started getting regular haircuts and are all in on "handsome clothes" for church and big school events.

Speaking of being five, you love Halloween, costumes, and baseball. Oh, how you've fallen in love with baseball. On the last day of preschool, you actually wrote that you wanted to be a professional baseball player when you grow up. You also told your teacher you wanted to be Spider-Man, so I'm taking it with a grain of salt. Anyway, we switched to a more formal tee-ball league with three fields and a concession stand last fall. I was your head coach for the first time this Spring and since the season ended, you have asked to practice almost every single day. You are eager to work on all parts of the game, even though you aren't big enough to confidently swing an aluminum bat and well, aren't bothered by bad reps and you are always thinking about the things we work on, talking about old tips or showing me things during nap times. You also study your baseball cards and the players we watch on TV, which has led to some adorableness, like fashioning an elbow guard for batting, giving high fives to the imaginary dugout after a home run, performing slow-motion replays, and throwing from your knees when you are being the catcher.

Off the field, I'm excited for you to start kindergarten this fall. You really seem to have an aptitude for learning and you pick things up really fast, like basic sight words and addition, and even the concept of negative numbers. One time, you even brought me a book because you wanted to practice reading. Without ever having done it before, you just sort of pieced together letter sounds and kept track of the words you worked out and did an amazing job.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that you started sharing a room with Ellie this past year, put your hands up on roller coasters at Disney, were obsessed with The Nightmare Before Christmas for a while and saw a lot of cool places on our summer road trip (I'm sure there's a book for that - P.S., your future wife is going to love your mama for doing such an awesome job chronicling how cute you are right now.)

I love you, little buddy, and couldn't be more excited to keep enjoying what we have going on right now. I promise I will always do my best.

All my love,
Daddy

Dear Ellie - Seven Years

My dear Ellie,

Child. You're seven. Who approved this? Who allowed this to happen? Remember when you were smaller than that stuffed alligator you're holding in your yearly photo? You were tiny and squishy and often grumpy, and we spent our days snuggled together trying to figure out the whole mother-daughter thing together. We walked and played and napped and cried and cuddled. And then you went and grew up on me. You're still as special as ever....you're just much bigger.

You are in first grade now and you are KILLING IT. You have two wonderful teachers and you are just thriving. Your reading has taken off and you are now reading at a third grade level. We've started reading chapter books together (Beezus and Ramona - you find Beezus, the sensible older sister to a wild, trouble-making little sibling, very relatable!) and you're really starting to take the initiative to actually read books on your own, instead of just looking at the pictures. You're doing great in math, as well, and math and science continue to be your favorite subjects. As of yesterday, you also have officially been admitted into the gifted program at your school, and I'm really hopeful that it will challenge you and help you grow even more!

I loved sitting in the meeting about your gifted program admission yesterday and hearing the glowing things your teacher had to say about you. I mean, I know all these great things are true, but it really makes me puff up with pride when other people notice them, too. You excel not only academically in school, but also as a leader and a friend. In fact, you were chosen as the very first recipient of your class's "Leader in Action" award in the first two weeks of the school year, and you were recognized at a school-wide assembly. You are well-liked by your peers because you are kind, thoughtful and sweet. You care very much about others and are very affectionate (you ran up and gave the crossing guard a huge hug today, just because). You have a way of making people feel very special.

As you're getting older, your extracurricular activities have continued to increase in number. You're still doing ballet (very beautifully and gracefully, I may add), plus worship dance and choir at church. You're in the Children's Choir now (a bump up from the Littlest Angels), which means you're putting on a musical at the end of this school year (in which you have both a singing feature and a speaking part), and you flawlessly read a Bible verse in front of a jam-packed church on Christmas Eve. You are also still going to running club at school, and this year you've added tee-ball to your resume. You saw E.J. play in the fall, and you decided you wanted to give it a try in the spring. You're on a team with E.J., and Daddy is your coach (Go Indians!). I have loved watching how hard you are working at it! You look great out in the field, and you're always up for practicing at home in your free time.

Speaking of motivation and hard work, when you started this school year you set a goal for yourself to learn how to do the monkey bars on your school playground. I watched with great pride as you kept working at it and working at it (with the blisters to prove it!) until you finally did it! You were so proud, and we were so impressed. Yesterday you also did the other, bigger set of monkey bars for the first time, too. You're really something, kiddo - when you get it in your mind that you're going to do something. YOU DO IT.

This year you also discovered your love for rollercoasters! It was almost exactly a year ago that you went on the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train at Disney World for the first time, after much effort to summon your courage. You said you enjoyed it, though your face in the pictures from the ride indicated otherwise. Yet, you asked to go on it again next time, and you were hooked. Recently, we have added a lot more Disney thrill rides to your resume! For some time it was a bit of a process to get you on a new ride: you would be nervous, but we would make you go anyway, which meant dragging you through the line as you dug your heels in and wailed about how unhappy and nervous you were, drawing stares from everyone else in line as we reassured them we really aren't awful parents, you love it. We would get on the ride with you still crying and squeezing your eyes shut. Then by the time the ride was over, you would be gushing about how much you loved it and begging to go on again. And we did this every. time. we tried a new rollercoaster for the better part of a year. But, on our most recent trip, you tried three new rides and DIDN'T CRY ONCE. We crossed a threshold, here! It's a whole new world! You were so brave and confident and AMAZING. And man, do you love those thrill rides. You get such an adrenaline high! And now you finally got your brain on board with the idea, too. Good for you, kiddo.

You and E.J. are still getting along well! I mean, you do bicker a decent bit, but all siblings do, don't they? You love to play together, and after spending almost every night in the early summer having "sleepovers" in each other's rooms, we shifted around our bedrooms to give you and E.J. a room to share, with bunk beds and everything! And speaking of sleepovers, you had your first real one this year! You and E.J. slept at Sophie's house just last month, and are already planning for the next one.

In other big firsts, you had your first Valentine this year. The day he asked you to be his Valentine, you came bounding out of school with such joy on your face, just talking a mile a minute about how happy this made you. You got your first taste of "love" and I got my first taste of terror that someone could possibly break your heart. I spent the next couple of weeks leading up to Valentine's Day just praying that something didn't go awry with the whole arrangement because you would have been devastated. Phew, boy. I'm not ready to do this for real yet, kiddo. My heart can't take it. Has anyone told you yet that boys have cooties? They totally do. Stay clear!

In some sad news, this year we said goodbye to Achilles. He passed away in November and you and I probably took it the hardest. It happened unexpectedly and I wasn't prepared for how to handle it with you, but we had a nice memorial service for him and I think you're doing okay. You mention missing him sometimes and still pray for him every night, but for the most part, you're okay. I love to see pictures of him with baby you and remember those times; those memories are very dear to me.

As for other notable things about seven-year-old Ellie, you still love music and dancing, and often turn on music yourself with our Amazon Echo so you can dance around the family room. Your favorite TV shows this year have been Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, The Who Was Show, Bill Nye the Science Guy and Ms. Julie's Greenroom. You still say Moana is your favorite movie, but you've been on a huge Mary Poppins kick lately! You love to play outside, and are showing some interest in learning to bike, roller-skate and swim, so maybe this will be a big outdoorsy year for you! You love to do crafty and artistic things, and you love stationery - you will write and mail cards to family without prompting (and it just makes their day to get mail from you!). You still love bunnies and space (you still want to be an astronaut!), the color pink, ziti and meatballs and dates with Daddy. You like to read books in bed with a flashlight before going to sleep. You have lost six teeth so far, with one or two more loose right now. You close your eyes when Alexa turns off the light in your bedroom because it scares you a little. You love to point out the constellation Orion. When we kiss you goodnight you take the kiss off your face and put it on your pillow for safe-keeping (the actual pillow, not the pillowcase, so it won't get washed off). You love to explain things, to figure out how things work, and to operate with a predictable routine. You have precious freckles on your nose, which you crinkle up when you give a big smile (just like you did as a baby!). I'd say all around, you're a pretty awesome kid.

As we kick off this new year of your life, I feel like you're really starting to dip your toes into the water of official Big Kid status, which is both really cool to watch and a little bit heartbreaking. For instance, in last year's letter, I wrote about how I love walking to and from school with you, because you always reach for my hand and tell me all about your day. I still love our walks together, but the hand-holding is becoming less frequent and you often head into school in the mornings without pausing for a hug or kiss for me. Sometimes you don't even remember to wave before you go in the door. I wonder if by next year's letter, you'll be holding my hand on the walk at all? I hate to think of it. Regardless, my hand will always be here if you want it, love.

Some of the less-pretty parts of growing up are starting to peek into your world, too. For example, a month or so ago we were getting to go somewhere and for the first time ever, you opted to change out of the cool (on-theme) costume you had planned to wear because you were scared people would stare at you. I can so vividly picture you standing there in your costume, tears in your eyes, verbalizing that fear to me and as I watched you sadly take it off, my heart broke into a million pieces. I have so loved all these years where you just wore what you wanted and did what made you happy and it never even occurred to you that other people might have opinions about it. I understand how you feel, and I knew it would come, and it still is only a glimmer of something - you still very much love costumes at Disney, or themed dress-up days at school, or what have you - but I know where we're headed and my heart aches that you will feel insecure sometimes, or self-conscious, or like you have to censor yourself. Ellie, you are the only you in the whole world and you are so special. I know it will be increasingly harder to proudly embrace that uniqueness, but I hope you will always remember that God made you perfectly you. I only wish I could make it easier for you to go through all that normal growing-up stuff. I just want to put you in a bubble and protect you from any possible heartache.

You know, Bug, I feel like you and I are partners, in a way - teammates. Seven years ago, you were thrust into a world that was entirely new to you, and so was I. I had never been somebody's mother before, and I only hoped you would afford me the grace I needed as I figured it out. We started out on a journey together, you and me, walking side by side and trying to find our way.

Seven years later, I'm still figuring it out. I'm not sure that will ever stop, really. Between you and E.J., I know that I make countless mistakes every day. Each night I go to bed praying that both you and God will forgive me for my shortcomings and that He will mold me into the mother you need. I think of all the ways I can be better and vow to do exactly that the next day. Yet, each morning I wake up as human and flawed as ever and the cycle repeats. I know what a blessing it is that at this point, my mistakes aren't even a blip on your radar and every day you offer me nothing but unfaltering adoration. I know those days are numbered, and as you get older my flaws will be more and more obvious to you. When that happens I only hope that my efforts will be as visible as my mistakes, that you will not only see my flaws but also how much I love you and how badly I want to be perfect for you. I'm trying, baby. I'm really trying.

Ellie, I love you. You are so precious to me and I am so honored and humbled that God chose me for you. What a blessing it is to be your mother! It's unlike anything I ever could have imagined.

I love you all the much, sweet girl. Happy birthday.

All my love,
Mama

Dear Ellie,

Happy birthday!!! For some reason, this one feels like another of those with the weird parenting time contradiction where your sixth birthday seems like forever ago, when you were so much younger, yet it hardly seems possible that the year passed by so quickly and you are actually seven! I don't even want to think about how old you'll be when you actually read this letter. Actually, seven-year old you just asked me what I was doing while I am typing this and it occurs to me that you have grown so much this year that you could probably read this letter right now. Honestly, first grade has really agreed with you. You've only missed a handful of points total on a 3 quarters of assignments and tests and you actually asked your math teacher for harder problems. Your reading teacher recommended you be screened for gifted and you passed! You will soon begin attending one day per week classes that will continue through at least 5th grade. But doing well in school is not new for you. What is new this year is climbing monkey bars and working through a fear of scary rides - roller coasters are now your favorite! (If Mama's letter doesn't tell this story in more detail, I'll add a footnote later because it's a good one!)

On your beginning of school "About me" poster, you wrote that your two goals were to "get on" all the monkey bars and to be an astronaut. It took some time, but you are doing great with the first goal, though the second one is going take a bit longer. That said, as of this writing, you still want to be an astronaut! You're also interested in being a doctor and sometimes a Mama, but science/math and space are still your primary loves. You read and ask questions about space all the time and you were even Dr. Mae Jemison for your school Halloween book character parade. You've taken an interest in constellations and have gotten very good at spotting Orion and Mars when they are in the sky. This passion helped me justify the cost of a three-foot tall Lego Saturn V rocket set because we built the entire thing together. Recently, we say an Apollo 11 documentary in the theater and you came home and wrote a letter to Buzz Aldrin. During your space unit in school, you actually caught your teacher oversimplifying things. She told the class that there was no gravity in space, and we ended up talking about orbits and underwater. Amazing.

Speaking of amazing, I have to mention how great of a bond we have right now. Goodness, we are buds. I know enough about the world to know that you have to grow up someday and this it means we won't get to spend as much time together, that I won't necessarily be the first person you share good or bad news with, and I definitely won't still be your top choice for a date. Heck, you already had a Valentine who wasn't me. But for now, we are still super close, and I have loved every second of our dates, whether we are running, golfing, going to the movies, or having dinner and dancing (even the one time the power went out in the restaurant). We also play catch now (!) and spend most days playing in the front yard or at playground with EJ, and every night reading and cuddling. Ellie, I can't explain how much I love you, but it's also pretty cool to know that you love me, too. The enthusiasm in your voice when I come downstairs every day is so genuine and so, so precious.

I know I've said it before, but writing these letters can be tricky because I don't exactly know who you'll be when you read (or re-read) them or what you might want or need to hear from me. A lot of things can be true at the same time, and certainly more than will fit into a letter, but as much as I hope they all fit together to tell a meaningful story when you read (or, lets be honest, skim) them all, there isn't any intentional coordination from letter to letter. I don't re-read old ones before writing the new one (so as not to bias my thinking) and I don't even really spread out the writing across multiple days. I also don't do nearly as good of a job keeping track of the whole year as I always hope to because there's just too much good stuff and I never know when you'll grow out of something until it's too late. Even with all those pseudo-short cuts, writing still takes time because, as you will find, life has a way of filling itself with stuff. Every year feels like it is especially busy, and it always actually is, so it would be really easy not to write anything at all. But parenting is the coolest thing in the world and you matter as much as something possibly can, so I'm glad your Mama and I have been able to find time to do this for you. Along those lines, I hope you will be intentional about setting priorities and keeping them clear so you will find a way to make time for the things that matter to you.

Anyway, whatever message(s) you happen to take from these letters, I need you to know that I couldn't possibly love you any more than I do and there isn't a single thing I would change about you. Every single trait, interest and experience of yours combines in just such a way to make you exactly who you are, and that is someone who is perfect and for whom God has a plan. I really hope you understand that, but I also know that, sometimes, it takes a bit more faith than other times, and that it never hurts to be reminded.

Before I go, I am happy to note some of the things I haven't mentioned yet that you dislike: having your foot fall asleep, being cold, the dark and not knowing how to do something really well the first time you do it; and some other things you like: ice cream, pasta, bunnies, ketchup, grilled cheese, explaining things, writing and drawing. See? You're perfect!

All my love,
Daddy