Saturday, October 23, 2010

Brighton's Birthday Letter 2010

How nice to have complete freedom to just sit and think about YOU today-- not a list, not a plan, not a decision, not a struggle, but YOU and the LIFE you infuse into our family.  
You don’t look seven to me, but my trusty, yet annoying, calendar says you are.  Just this morning as you were pulling your SillyBandz from behind your special hiding spot (for fear I will throw them away), you pointed to the picture they were behind, grinned your bright grin and asked, “Who’s that little guy you’re holding?”  Knowing it was rhetorical, I just smiled, but I did decide to stop and see what else you’d have to say.  You took your ever growing finger, circled your face in the corner of the frame and said, “I like that little guy right there-- that face-- how I look right there.  I like my little face.”  Oh, as do I, sweet B.  As do I.  However, sometimes I don’t linger on it long enough, not long enough to really tell why you are “noodling” (going limp) when you are acting like you can’t figure out a math problem or when you seem determined to drive your sister nuts before she gets a chance to turn 10.  Sometimes, though, I get to linger on your perfect face and savor it, like when you are telling a story and I am trying to figure out if it is concocted or not, or when you are standing at the top of the stairs after being soundly tucked by your Daddy trying to come up with something that will get you back down the stairs or my favorite, when you are fresh out of bed full of things to say and your hair is indescribable, but let me try-- standing on end, but resembling something like an exploded eagle’s nest.   I get the biggest kick out of seeing you talking as serious as an astronaut ready for take off with hair like that.  When we cut your hair, I’ll miss that.  A lot.  

You sailed through Kindergarten creating waves that Julia and I were unaccustomed to navigating our previous years.  This year, first grade is much the same.  Some waves are fun to ride and some capsize us causing us to wonder if we really can do all this---- together.  You do everything FAST, from eating a PB&J to answering your math facts.  In fact, you give your sister a run for her cute little piggy bank with our flash card games.  Because you work so quickly, it leaves you with a lot of free time and since you don’t really like playing by yourself-- anywhere, nor doing extra school work, you spend a lot of time rolling around the learning room floor distracting your day dreamer sister, whose 3rd grade work takes much longer.  This is not a good combination.  Capsized.  We ALL need rescuing.  Quickly.  Some days the only word I can come up with when your Daddy comes home is “unbelievable.”  On those days, your unique vocal antics leave me speechless.  On glorious good days when you are actually following instructions and doing your work without commentary, or you and Julia are cheering each other on in math, or playing football together during “recess”, tickling each other during “line time”,  I realize how much I love having you two together- learning how to pull off a day, in all our sinfulness, together.  You bring just what we need to school, B-- you are Julia’s delight and demise and my crash course in sanctification.  


I sense it won't be long until I can call you my brother in Christ.  He's drawing You and you are almost ready.  You are watching things and people constantly-- filtering your findings through all you know about God.  Your Daddy and I are praying for you, for this decision to be your own and ultimately for you to love and serve the Lord in ways of which we never even dreamed.    

When you roll over at 7 am, you are the one from whom PARAGRAPHS spill.  It could be about baseball, a tattle from the days before, a random story you had been saving all night, your thoughts about our day’s activities, or a list of questions about tombstones, hot dogs, God Himself, or giraffes. 
You are the one who says things like, “The guy who wrote this book is wrong.”  (referring to Richard Saxon of Saxon Math curriculum.  Yeah.)  You even ventured to say, “Mom, you need to call him and tell him this is too hard for me.”   


You are the one whose excitement cannot be contained in your 55 pound body and it pretty much all comes out of your mouth.  Your brain and tongue move into “turbo” position and we all sort of stand back and watch. 



You are the one who will choose the Wii over a good ol' book any day, but every now and then you get wrapped up in a good story and can be as adamant about "one more chapter" as you do "10 more minutes"!  



You are the one I’d call the early bird- almost always ready to get out of bed and wander about until you find some company.   


You are the one who personifies persistence. If a robin could understand you, you’d convince your feathered friend that it could swim. If you are called to be an evangelist, a revival is coming to our land.  


You are the one who fills our days with monologues such as this one.  In the 5 seconds we are stopped to let you out at the baseball field before we find our parking place, you say, “Hey!  I smell a skunk!  Ew.  Mom! Dad!  What if WE were the skunks-- I  mean, like our baseball team was really called, ‘The Skunks’.  Wouldn’t that be funny?”  Through the crack as you are shutting the door, “Then everyone in the stands would be yelling, “Go Skunks!  Go Skunks! Go..!”  Door slams and we hear, “...Skunks!!”   Big grin flashes and you’re off to the batting cages with bat and glove in tow.  Or at bedtime, “Mom, what if God made our blood blue?  Like when I scratched my arm, blue stuff would come out of my skin.  Or my scrapes from the rose bush would be long BLUE streaks!”  


You are the one who hears the organ music in the background when we are watching the Rangers play.  As a result, you have figured out how to play all the baseball tunes and chants.  


You are the one who wants his back scratched anytime, anywhere, by almost anyone. However, you are rather picky about the places on your back you want scratched.  
 You are the one boosts your Daddy’s ego by asking him questions like, “You know those old guys in the dugout wearing uniforms?  Well, did you used to be one of those?”  But then you are also the one who says things like, “See that Mommy over there, that girl standing right by my closet?  I fell in L-O-V-E with her and now I have a big a crush on her.  She's my favorite.  This Mommy right here,"  with a HUGE hug. WHERE do you come up with stuff like that??


You are the one who doesn’t like change which, at this point, means you are a sentimental pack rat wanting to save EVERYTHING “for my kids” from the random T-shirt from Costco (with a hole in it) to the stick you found on a lake weekend “when I was three”.   Your full and colorful vocabulary does not include “declutter”.  Even taking apart Lego creations proves difficult for you.  


You are the one who keeps me sharp.  Now I know what it means to stay a step ahead of your children.  We both get into trouble if my brain ever shifts to neutral with you around.  


Your Daddy often says, “he’s a lot of fun” and you are.  You are a lot of things, Big B, but you are most definitely the one I love.  


As I am staying up late to finish this off, I realize we aren't but a couple of hours from the wee morning hours you were born.  The anticipation at this time in the night was at the tipping point and I was feeling pretty helpless.  The midwife sensed this, I think, and gave me jobs.  I must have proved myself "worthy" because at the critical moment she ordered me to pull you out and then gave me the honor of cutting your umbilical cord.  Once you found your lungs, you made up for the lost time and SCREAMED.  Your Daddy kept calling up the stairs, "Is it a boy?!  Is it a boy?  Can I come up? When can I come up?!!"  A few minutes later, which he refers to as "forever", it was a wonderful sight, seeing him with you that night.  He'd waited patiently for God to answer his prayer written in a journal only a few months before we found out about you.  He was holding an answer in his arms.  And I was looking at one.   


We love you the whole world, Jeffrey Brighton Sanders!   Happy Birthday.




Goodbye Six!  Hello Seven!

2 comments:

Alyssa said...

I will NEVER get tired of anticipating these letters that you write to the kiddos on their birthdays, and I'm never disappointed at how you capture them. You get me in the heart every time. Happy 7th birthday, B!

Sarah said...

This is amazing, Krista!