I don't know why it's taken me so long to post the birthday letters, but just in case I still have any visitors to this blog- there's actually something to read today.
April 7, 2011
Happy Golden Birthday, Zephyr!
As always, I shake my head in disbelief that you are the age that you are. Seven! Wow! I remember when you used to fit on your Dad’s forearm, and when all you wanted was to be held and nursed, all day and all night long. From the moment you were born, you amazed me, my perfect Zephyr. This morning, I sat watching you eat toast, and felt the same sort of interest and wonder. As I often tell you when I’m tucking you in, I’m glad you were the one who taught me to be a Mommy.
I recall that last year, as I wrote your birthday letter, I was concerned about your tendency to lash out physically when angered. I was fearful that this could become a lifelong struggle for you. I’m pleased that over the course of this year you are exhibiting this behavior much less frequently. While your temper still rises from 0 to 60 in the blink of an eye, you seem to have outgrown, for the most part, your impulse towards physical violence. Sometimes Renee and I stifle smiles at your substitute behaviors- forcefully sticking out your tongue at someone, or sputtering out things like, “I hope next time you’re outside there’s a bird in the tree, and you walk under that tree, and that bird poops on your head!!!” You are furious and vengeful at these moments, full of spite and venom, but there’s something so endearing and innocent about the fact that tongue-sticking and bird-poop cursing is the worst you can come up with. Oh, Zephyr. I am so grateful that we have been able to give you a wide berth from the influences of TV and school. Your rage feels so age-appropriate, somehow, so quintessentially 7, unadulterated.
I don’t think I could possibly write a birthday letter this year without writing about your current obsession, a computer game called Wizard 101. (To be completely fair, it’s pretty much the obsession of your entire family.) Your twenty minutes of “Wizard” a day has taken the place of all other screen time, leaving the Care Bear and Veggie Tales movies from the library in the dust. (I sort of miss hearing you sing the songs from those movies, which you were into earlier this year.)
It is fun watching you become a more powerful wizard, and I do believe there is some educational value in the game itself. However, your formal education has also taken off as a result. Before you can play Wizard, you must do some reading, writing, and math. I’m conflicted about making you read, because part of me believes I should let it happen organically as it becomes interesting to you. We have read to you, of course, every day of your life, so your literacy education has not lacked. But there didn’t seem to be any harm in asking you to start sounding out words, and it is so sweet and amazing to listen to your beginning-reader self as you navigate your way through increasingly complex words. “Is that a compound word?” you’ll ask, and I love the way you so carefully indicate excitement when you see an exclamation mark, and inflect accordingly when you see a question mark. Another little quirk of yours is that you pronounce some “th’s” as “d’s,” so “the” sounds like “duh,” but only upon careful listening. (And although you have lost nearly all your endearing mispronunciations of the past, you do say “tessert” instead of dessert, which makes us smile.)
Lately, for math, you have been enjoying Sudoku puzzles, inspired by your Grandma Chris. You are also very adept at counting money, adding, subtracting, measuring, place value, and telling time, to an extent. You take after your mother when it comes to penmanship, but we’re trying to get you to slow down and pay attention, so perhaps there’s a chance you will write legibly.
You actually take after me in many things. The other day, after I remarked that you said something I was just thinking, you explained, “I have Dada’s feet, and your brain.” You have an extreme loyalty to making sure everyone’s statements are literally correct, to which I can relate. For instance, the other day you heard me telling someone on the phone, “We told Zephyr he could choose whatever he wanted for his birthday, so he chose to go camping with Jon and to Ruidoso with me.” “No, you didn’t say I could choose anything I wanted,” you reminded me. “You said I could choose any special activity to do with you. If I could choose anything I want, I would have asked for a million dollars.”
You are becoming so fun to spend time with. You have reached an age where you have an interest level and attention span that allows you to be a fun companion for many activities I enjoy. Every day, you and I enjoy running Maisy together, doing crossword puzzles, and meditating. (Body, Mind, and Spirit, as we like to say.) Both Dada and I are now eager to spend time with you, one-on-one, doing things that are actually fun for us, too. (Your sister doesn’t mind. She’s happy to stay home with her books and collected bits of things.)
This year, you seem to have developed a really sweet and loving attitude towards your sister. One of the beauties of homeschooling is the amount of time you two spend together, encouraging your relationship to grow and bloom. You do still bicker at least once every day, but you have many more positive interactions that negative ones. When she says something funny or cute, you meet our eyes, smile, and shake your head. You seem to finally understand that she wants to be just like you, and you tolerantly steer her in the right direction. When we’re trying to get out of the house and she doesn’t seem to be hearing my pleas for compliance, I turn to you, “Zephyr, would you please encourage your sister to go pee/get dressed/choose a hat/put on shoes?” And she hears you, and responds. I love the way you two invent games, sing made-up songs (as my sister and I used to,) and play make-believe. Jubilee is lucky to have a brother (“Bwa-bwa” or “Effer,” as she likes to call you) like you, to teach her about life. And you’re lucky to have a sister like Jubilee, to teach you about love.
Zephyr, you mean so much to me. I don’t know who I’d be without you. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed watching you grow from baby to toddler to preschooler to school-aged boy. I feel like I can almost start seeing the grown-up person you’re going to become, and he is intelligent, funny, kind, helpful, passionate, and healthy. I am so proud to be your Mommy.
I love you infinity,
Mommy
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