Wednesday, May 15, 2013


On this very day, six short years ago, you took your first breath. And with that breath, you changed our lives forever.
Sweet Tyler, I cannot believe that six years have passed. Six years since your tiny 4 pound 15 ounce self flipped my world upside down and made me a mama. It is incredibly difficult to comprehend how my baby transformed into the creative, sassy effervescent boy before me..and so ridiculously fast. When you were small, we were repeatedly told to enjoy each and every moment with you because those moments would be gone before we knew it.  And now? So many times I stop and wonder if I am doing just that. Am I slowing down enough to listen to your questions about God and street signs and the distance to the sun? Have I spent enough time playing catch with you and reading bedtime stories? Will I always remember the gold speckles in your eyes, the lone mole on your left cheek and the way you pick your blanket when you suck your thumb? I hope with all of my might that I do.
There are so many more things about your six year old self that I want to etch into my memory. Your love of books, bike rides and your baby brother. How much you love being outside. You could {and do} spend hours upon hours playing with your friends; running from house to house for snacks and juice and a fresh selection of toys. It’s no secret that you would choose being with them over Dad and I any day. Don’t worry, we moved past hurt feelings long ago.
What else? Your favorite food is grilled cheese, your favorite cartoon is Curious George and your favorite girl? Catie. You’re going to marry her. In ten weeks. Just enough time for her hair to grow a bit longer and to pick out the perfect dress. You love her. I know, because you told me {and I kind of assumed based on the fact that her name has been scrawled in green sharpie across our dryer, garage floor and every piece of artwork you bring home.} There will come a day when you don’t tell me these things. When you roll your eyes and brush me off. I dread those years.
Tyler, you’re smart. Like, wicked smart. You challenge us each and every day. You test the boundaries and you pepper our days with difficult questions. When I threaten to punish you {which happens!} you don’t cry. You don’t get angry and stomp off to your room. You look me square in the eye and ask what sort of punishment I plan to dole out. And then? You toss out ideas. You negotiate. You drive us mad.
One of my very favorite things about you is that you aren’t afraid to be you. You are loud. You are sweet. You are sensitive. You love soccer and t-ball and digging for worms. But in addition to those “boy” interests? You play house, wear pink and paint your nails. You see nothing wrong with those things and neither do we. But I know that someday there will be a kid who does. That kid will likely be four feet tall, steal your kickball at recess and make faces at you during circle time. I hope that I’m wrong. But if not? I pray that you won’t let that pipsqueak change you. I also pray that your dad and I are doing our job and that you’ll never be that kid. The one who fails to see the beauty in diversity. Because, you’re beginning to notice that not all kids are the same. Just yesterday you told me about a boy at t-ball, and then you scrunched up your face and said “he looks just like this!.” The face you made? It wasn’t cute. I tried to explain that everybody is different and it is those differences that make us special. And then I said a silent prayer that through my stuttering and stammering you were somehow able to comprehended the message I was attempting  to convey.

I think you did…I told you, you’re smart.

Tyler Jay, your dad and I are so incredibly lucky to call you ours. We love you more than words can describe.


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