Sunday, January 10, 2010

Four Years Ago ...

Four years ago, I had spent all night laboring.
Four years ago, about the time that you two came into my bedroom this morning, you made your appearance into the world.
Four years ago, I found my life changed forever ... As cliche as that sounds, it really is true.

Bruise, my firstborn, you still push and shove your way through life. Not much has changed. you're still my little grumpy/cuddle/hungrybear. You're all boy ... though you scream like a girl (as you're oh-so-proud to declare).
Right now, your goal in life is to become a Transformer. Preferably an Autobot. However, you also want to be "Dark Aver" (Darth Vader).
You've grown taller and more talkative. You're sweet as can be ... except when you're being a punk. (And, NO, I couldn't possibly guess where you'd get THAT personality trait.)
You've grown to love singing -- Your favorites are "I am a Child of God," "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam," "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," and The Imperial March.
You stage epic lightsaber battles in the living room ...
You are, most times, an extreme delight. I'm glad that you're my son and that I have the opportunity to be your mother.

Bucket, my princess, you were the child I first held and first nursed. You seem to go through life with a grace and ease that I can only envy ... And I can't even do that. I hope that you always maintain your confidence ... and use your charm for good and not evil. ^_^
You are a remarkably pretty little girl -- your smooth, creamy skin and shiny curls. And you match your looks with your intelligence. Which sometimes worries me.
You love to be helpful and to try and be a second mother to Bruise. You're a born nurturer. As well as a born flirt.
You're already starting to read ... which floors me. You are so motivated to go into school already that it kills me that you're going to miss the cut-off date for Kindergarten. You are driven -- to the point where I am aghast at how stubborn you can be (Not that I'd know WHERE you could have learned a personality trait like THAT).

Bruise and Bucket, I'm so glad that you're both healthy, smart children. That you are surrounded by family and friends who adore you. (Truly, whenever I go anywhere without you, people will ask where you are. I am, for a good part of my existance, [Bruise] and [Bucket]'s mother. I can handle this.) I am so glad that you are lucky enough to have a daddy who loves you and plays with you.

When I don't get out of bed before you get up (which is, to be perfectly honest, most of the time), you run down the hall to hop into bed and cuddle with me. You beg me to play your favorite Facebook games (Happy Aquarium is there at the top of the list). We're working our way through The Chronicles of Narnia (right now, we're in the middle of "The Silver Chair") and debating on what to read for bedtime stories after that ... Even though you, Bucket, seem to fall asleep before the chapter's done each night.

I don't quite know what this year will bring for you. Hopefully, the economy will turn around so we can spoil you both much more. I'd really love to buy you the bunk beds that you covet ... and a doll house and a train table ... Heck, while I'm thinking big, how about a bigger house with a playroom? Your own computers? A Wii? An Xbox, so you'll know what it is after quoting that scene with the black crane in BBC1's "Walk on the Wild Side" (Daytime ... Nighttime!!). And, hey, after you were both so well-behaved when we saw "The Princess and the Frog," if I had the money, I'd take you out to the movies a lot more often.

Still, even without tons of money, it's fun being your mother. Even though I often lose patience and find myself yelling and getting frustrated. ... Even so, I do love you both very, very much.

Many happy returns, my sweet ones.

1 comment:

Kari said...

So sweet. Concise and perfectly worded.

Counting ...

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