four years

Dear Andrew,

Happy 4th birthday! It has been quite a year for you and that brain of yours, expanding your creativity, your intelligence, your physical abilities. We have had a great time watching you grow and change.

You've always been a sensitive boy, but this year it has been revealed time and again in many different ways. You are so good at gushing genuine sweetness. You tell me I'm pretty. After a new haircut, when I get dressed up. You're the first one to notice and compliment me. If I've made a dinner that you are particularly fond of, you'll turn to me, look me in the eye and without any prompting say, "Thanks for making this dinner, Mommy." And I will never forget the dressing room at Sears. Matthew was just a few weeks old (why we were at the mall, I have no idea). I couldn't resist the Lands' End clearance rack, and when I spotted an $8 pink knit dress that would make an awesome swimsuit cover-up, I dragged you boys into the dressing room for a quick try-on. Despite being exhausted and just a few weeks postpartum, you watched me critique myself in the mirror and said with all sincerity and awe, "Mommy, you look like a princess!" What affirming words from you, Andrew.




















Because you are a whole year older, you're also more sensitive and aware of the world around you. I'm not quite sure how, but you've realized that danger does exist, that people can get hurt, that life isn't always perfect. What's still difficult for you to distinguish, though, is the difference between fact and fiction. Sometimes reality is still blurred for you. No, the blue tarp on Grandpa's wood pile can't get you. Yes, those mannequins at Old Navy are just pretend. The round knots in the tree trunk aren't eyes looking at you, and the noise you've heard is just Daddy working outside. You need assurance and explanation and rationale. Your concerns cannot just be dismissed because I say, "Don't worry, it's nothing." We have done lots of praying together this year.

And then there's your more physical sensitivity. Your socks "hurt". Your pants "hurt". Your shirt isn't soft enough. In those moments, I always remember a blog post I came across called "46 Reasons My Three Year Old  Might Be Freaking Out". It could have been me writing about you. Sometimes, for unexplained reasons, simple facts of life bother you in a way that send you into a tailspin. You expectations are dashed or there is a mis-communication between us. And that's enough to cause panic because, say, your sock was wrinkly, because your toast had a crumb on it, because the strawberries were big. Or crying at dinner because - get this - your pizza had sauce on it. I know, right? So no longer do we waste any breath on going to battle with you over silly little issues. Instead, we agree to let you wear your winter coat in the middle of August if that is your desire. Or eat ice cream with a fork. Or go to the library with you shirt on backwards. Why? Because you like it that way.




















This year was a transitional one in terms of birth order. You stopped being both the baby and only boy, and instead eased into the middle-child slot, sharing the boyhood attention. Morgan is a pioneer as the oldest, and Matthew is the needy baby. You, Andrew, are stuck in the middle of those two spotlight suckers. Sometimes you're okay with that. Other times, you do your own thing to get attention whether you realize it or not. I am no longer surprised when your brain thinks "I wonder what will happen if I pump some liquid hand soap on my toothbrush and use that instead of toothpaste?" or "Does raspberry yogurt rub into my hands just like lotion does?" And then, of course, you actually TRY these bright ideas. Your way of getting our attention or just figuring out life? Hard to say.



















Despite the changes, you have been very welcoming of Matthew into our family. You have the funniest pet names for him, like "silly Ginker" or "silly Binker", depending on the day. I can see in your body that you want to squeeze your love into Matthew, to wrestle him and rough house. That part of brotherhood will come soon enough. For now, we enjoy the more gentle moments.


















As for Morgan, you two go in spurts. In the weeks leading up to your birthday (and coincidentally, the first day of school), you and Morgan have played so nicely together. Agreeable, cooperative, willing to share. And like any siblings, you both have your moments of pushing and pulling, sometimes needing mediating to settle the score. In fact, on one warm day in early March, the two of you were in the backyard enjoying the sunshine when you both collided, and your front tooth connected with Morgan's forehead. Screams and tears, kisses and hugs, all seemed well until a couple months later when your tooth turned three shades of gray. A good visual memory of the fun you were having. Regardless of the relationship rollercoaster, I love that you have a closeness with your big sister. She influences you in ways you'll never know. Now that she is a full-time first grader, I am anxious to see if Morgan's absence will thrust you more in Matthew's direction, or how things will change in the year ahead.

Andrew, you have the best imagination! Based on just one situation or image alone, you think up all kinds of descriptive details. After hearing a fire truck in the distance you tell me who's driving, where it's going, and what has happened at the scene. You concoct plots and stories filled with detail. Even recounting your day, we are never left wondering exactly what happened because you've painted such a vivid picture with your words.























Daddy is the one who is usually the first to hear your message. You always have so much to share with him. Ever since Matthew was born, your relationship with Daddy has grown more intense, you long for him in a way that I've never seen, asking for him constantly. Sometimes we just call him up at work so you can say hello, share another story, or be talked down from your current state of sadness.

There have been many times this year where we've experienced "Andrew's Injustices" - dramatic moments when you've been wronged, most often by Morgan, and need to tell anyone who will listen. Often eye contact or a nod will suffice, but sometimes you need more consoling. It's never a punishment for the offender that you're seeking, but instead recognition that you've been victimized.




I love to watch you run. It's something you do so effortlessly, one foot in front of the other for such very long distances without stopping. It's quite remarkable to see you take off across the Trinity field, just for fun. And to come back, barely winded. And you still adore vehicles of all kinds. I'll catch you studying the bodies of cars, taking in the details. Or you'll tell me about the wheels on a truck, how they are different. Which has a hitch or a rooftop carrier. Campers, recycling trucks, ambulances, you name it. You even love to play "garbage man" when we go to Meijer, pretending to grab bags of waste and throwing them into your "truck" every time I stop the shopping cart. And the best part, of course, riding on the side in between "houses".

You are thrilled to be four today, Andrew. With that age comes full-size vitamins, Children's church, and preschool three days a week. Phones calls and Skyping, packages and envelopes, they all made your day. And you made ours. 

Daddy and I love being yours. Seeing life through your eyes is unpredictable and oh-so-refreshing. Someday you will realize that Daddy and I are two peas in an efficient and well-organized pod, a pod that needs shaking up every now and then in order to stretch and grow. Thanks for being that for us. We need it. We need you. 

Until next year, my sweet boy.

Love you to pieces,

Mommy

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.

Ephesians 2:10