A Letter to Brighton, 2008

My sweet boy,
What a job I have today writing your 5th birthday letter! When it comes to wrapping things up, your momma is pitiful. Writing a summary about ANYTHING is not one of my strengths. So, one day, if you ever decide to read this, grab a comfy chair and enjoy.

Up until the day we brought you home, I had never seen your sister speechless. On October 27th, 2003, your chatty 21 month old sister couldn’t find the words to express her absolute delight in welcoming you into our family. Instead, she just hopped, danced and skipped about your basket beaming for a full 10 minutes—running to hug us and running back to invade every square inch, and then some, of your personal space. Once she found her tongue, she immediately wanted to hold you. It was time to sun your slightly jaundiced and barely 5 ½ pound baby body, so we walked out into a gorgeous October day and stripped you down while she settled into a sunny spot in the green grass. We placed a “blanket- wrapped you” into her uplifted chubby arms and she has been a favorite of yours ever since. Until you were three, she was "mommy" and I was "momma". You were an answer to many of her sweet prayers and ours.

Just the other day, it was your turn to give out the vitamins and as you tried to put your hand in the mouth of the jar I noticed how huge it looked. It was just one of MANY times throughout the year I noticed that my four year old was on his way to five. I am so not ready for you to be five. I don’t like it one bit.

What I do like is to watch you do your favorite things. You love to play any sort of ball. I have seen you shoot your little UT basketball towards a regulation height goal at least 30 times before you made it through the net. Nothing excites you more than to eat a “Brighton- approved" meal. Your “default” activity is to build, build, build whether it be with Lincoln Logs, Tinker Toys, Dominoes, blocks, books etc. You have a thing for all things “caution”-- “extruction” toys you call them, like road blocks, orange cones, stop signs and anything with that familiar red circle with the line through it. I am not positive but if I had to guess, your favorite thing to do is to play with Julia. You, my second child, never learned to play well by yourself. When I attempt to work on this neglected area of training, after about 20 minutes, I hear your door opening, your bare feet shuffling in the hall way and a few seconds later, your voice trailing down the stairs, “Momma? Can I play with Julia now?”

There are so many unique and special things about you and it makes me wonder which things will still be evident years from now. For now, you are the one who will run and jump off of the dock at the lake and then swim UNDER the dock to get to the ladder only to do it a dozen more times. However, you won’t play with a particular pirate toy in your room by yourself because “it is creepy”. You are the one who loves to share a meal with friends or family in our home. I think you get more excited about that than a play date with a friend. During my "mommy check", you are the one I always find sleeping wedged in the smallest place possible. You are the one who plays Pick Up Sticks with the precision of a brain surgeon. You are the one who still comes to find me in my room when you make the trip downstairs. You always greet me with one of your 1000 watt smiles and a sweet hug. You are the one I find on the stairs with your blanket in the early morning hours. When I ask you what you are doing, you always answer, “I just wanted to know where you were.” You are the one who seeks out my friends in a crowd to speak to them and quite often to give them a hug around their legs. You are the one who will pray whenever asked. Each sentence brings delight to God’s heart, as they do mine, even though they can be quite egocentric. Your prayers remind me of blog entries as you tell God all about your day, what you liked, what you didn’t, and what you hope is different tomorrow (including the food).

Maybe your most noticeable skill is that you have never met a silence you cannot fill. Sweet B, you can talk. Seriously. You fill our rooms, our car, our meal times with non-stop verbage. It really is quite amazing. You talk to Julia through the bedroom walls all hours of the day and night. You even have "fillers" for those times you can't remember what you were going to say. Among your favorites are, "Where are we going in the morning?", "I love you.", and "What are we having for dinner (or breakfast or lunch)?". Your constant need for (my) water makes sense when I think of how many words you can speak in sixty seconds.


Since you have had plenty of practice, you are a pro at expressing the way you feel and communicating your ideas and thoughts. Here are a few of your declarations (and three critical questions):
On certain food: “My tummy is tired of this food.”
On spoiled cottage cheese: “This cottage cheese is dead.”
On using the Target bathroom: From the stall-- “That was my pee pee. Brighton Sanders.” (Marking his territory????)
On hydration needs: “Pizza and chocolate bars make you thirsty. Oranges don’t.”
On getting a spanking: Through tears and a contorted face, “Can we pray about it?”, or “Will you give me grace?”, and always, “How many?”
On Krispy Kreme doughnuts: “This bagel is awesome!”
On someone suggesting a military cut for his hair: “My Momma would NOT be happy about THAT!!” On sleeping (or not?): “I was very tired but I couldn’t keep my eyes closed.”
On future occupations: “A bull fighter or an airplane driver. Either one.”
On playing house: “We are playing wife and honey.”
On having the fidgets: “My brain is not working on this devotional.”

Well, son, if you are still reading, I am proud of you. One, it means I was actually able to teach you to read and two, maybe you really do wind up liking it. Five years have been a blink but YOU have been an eternal joy. I absolutely love being your “momma”. I love knowing the little place on your cheek that doesn’t tan. I love that you talk a lot. I love that you love company. I love that you steal my heart almost every day. I love the way you run. I love knowing the birthmark on your back is shaped like a sea creature. I love that when you get married you want to live in “Evonne’s room” (upstairs at our house). I love that you draw ten pictures a day for me (of a football field). I love that when you pray, you NEVER forget to thank God for “my Dad, my Momma and my sister”. And so, sweet Brighton, I thank God for you. I love you more than you'll ever know. Happy Birthday!

(Last night before you went upstairs to be tucked in by your Daddy, I said, "Come here, so I can hug and kiss my four year old one last time." Once in my arms you asked, "Will you still hug and kiss your five year old?")