A letter to my oldest son

Dear Gibson,

Hi there. It's me.............. your mom. I know that your birthday isn't today, so let me just go ahead and apologize upfront for the fact that I am late in delivering your letter. You see, you've been gone for a week visiting your Grammie and Grampy up in Ohio, so your father and I.................. Well................... We've been having a BLAST! In all seriousness child, I can't even remember the last time we had so many evening plans. The whole week you were gone it was night after night after night of fun things to do! Early in the week we had a leisurely dinner out at a restaurant, and we were there for an hour and a half! Can you believe it? We ordered, ate, and drank our bottle of wine at a snail's pace. And not once did I have to tell anyone to get out from under the table. Good God -- It was GREAT! And on Saturday we didn't even get home from watching fireworks until 11:00! So even though it's been on my agenda this week to finish your birthday letter, you'll have to understand that I've been too busy "dating" your dad again to actually get around to finishing it. (And while I'm sure that statement will gross you out for years to come, someday, when you're married and have kids of your own you'll look back and get it completely.) Not that you'll even notice -- or care -- that I was late in my posting, seeing that you are so busy playing, yourself.

You turned six yesterday and I'm sure that Grammie and Grampy made it an extra fun day for you. I've heard bits and pieces -- about you making new friends, playing at the pool, swimming in the pond, going putt-putt golfing, "helping" Grampy build a clubhouse by misplacing each and every tool he needs, and keeping your uncle in stitches with your antics -- so I can't wait to see your face and hear all the details of your visit when you get back home tonight.

I want you to know that it's amazing to watch you grow into a kid -- not a "little kid", but a regular, grown-up kind of kid, with more mature thoughts and feelings than I thought possible in a 6 year old. And it surprises me every now and again, when I catch small glimpses of the person you'll become as an adult. Not that you don't act like a typical 6 year-old -- you do -- it's just that sometimes I see these reflections of a grown up you in the things you say, or the expressions you make, or the way you clear all the plates from the dinner table without even being asked. My own heart swells a little when I see you taking such pride in the more mature tasks you are able to accomplish, and I love the satisfied glow that radiates out of you when you know you've done something well.

You are a sweet, sweet child. Sweet in the way you care about people and their feelings, and also how adeptly you can express your own. You talk frequently in terms of your heart, and how it feels -- like how sometimes thunderstorms make your heart feel scared, or how snuggling with your Lovey makes your heart feel happy. You wear your emotions on your sleeve, and even though I sometimes find it frustrating that you are so quick to be moved to anger and/or tears, more often than not it's a winsome quality. You find excitement and joy very easily, and your ability to be quick to laugh also brings laughter to those of us around you.

There is an innocence about you that is so wonderful and endearing that I wish I could do a better job of putting it into words. Your big blue eyes, coupled with your complete earnestness sometimes make you hilarious -- without meaning to be. And when I collapse in laughter at something you've said that was completely genuine (but totally crazy), it hurts your feelings. So I'm trying to do a better job of reigning it in, because -- let's face it -- even though I'm not in any way trying to make fun of you, I'm laughing at you and not with you, and you know the difference.

Just recently, you've gotten a good handle on your letters and numbers. It's happened all of a sudden -- like you turned 6 and something clicked -- and I'm so happy for you. Because if I'm perfectly honest, I truly thought it was possible that you'd make it through another year of Kindergarten and still not quite have those basics nailed. But I think you've finally got it. You can count to 100, though you do still get 6 and 9 confused, and for the first time since you started going to school you can recognize all the letters of the alphabet. It's fantastic, and I'm proud of you for it. However, not so long ago you used to tell me that you loved me "51", since that was the biggest number you could conjure up. You thought it was the most massive thing in the world. And as proud of you as I am for learning that maybe 51 isn't the biggest number out there, I'll miss that.

You have a captivating personality and seem to have been born with the ability to charm and engage anyone. And that has been the case for as long as I can remember, even when you were a baby - even before you could talk. You always drew people in. I watch you strike up conversations with random people, often complete strangers and watch you capture their interest as you share your stories with them. It's a gift.

Your energy level is frequently through the roof, and you have a hard time being still -- especially at the dinner table, which exasperates your father to no end. You are always springing up out of your seat to act out part of the story you are telling, or to refill your drink, or to shout out the back door to the neighbor kids. Sometimes I think the top of his head is going to explode when you've gotten out of your seat for the 5th time in four minutes, or when the rest of us are all done eating, but the food on your plate has hardly been touched because you've been so busy yapping. It's my fault, I suppose. I passed you quite a few of my traits -- and that super-short attention span and non-stop yakking are just 2 of them. Ironically, those are the things that make me lose my patience with you. I don't presume that it's really fair, but Landis is wired more like your dad and so in that regard I am more tolerant of his antics than I am of yours. And yet, it's because you are so much like me that you really know how to push my buttons. I try to be conscious of it -- after all, who better to understand where you're coming from than me? Nevertheless, sometimes I think I get bent out of shape with you because you reflect back to me that things I find frustrating about myself. So I'm promising you that I'll do better to try to retain my composure and overlook some of your shenanigans, like I do for your little brother, OK?

A few weekends ago, we were floating out on the lake in our huge raft -- rowing around between all the wave runners and water skiers -- and you were jumping off the raft and swimming and basically having an all-around great time. At some point in the afternoon, when you were sitting in the front of the boat taking in all your surroundings, you looked at me and said "I love being a kid!" Then after a pause you amended that statement to add "I love being a KAFSKY kid!" And I want you to know that I love that you are a Kafsky kid too. Because you were my fist-born, you changed my life in ways I could have never imagined, and you certainly bring more joy to it than I could ever adequately express. So welcome to another year. I can't wait to see what's in store for you, and I hope you have a wonderful birthday.

I love you,
Mom