84 months

for those who are new around here, for the first year of both kids lives I wrote a letter every month. I keep private journals for them now, but try to do a birthday letter to highlight all their awesomeness.  it's a lot of awesome to squeeze into one letter, believe me.



dear jamin,

all day long I've been chasing eric down just to ask him, "what were you doing at this time seven years ago? how about now?" partly we just like to relive the glory of the day you were born, and partly I just need lots of reminders. there are lots of parts of that day that are blurry in my memory. and when I realize that day was seven (seven!) years ago, it strikes me that lots about the past seven years is kind of blurry, too. but the parts that matter most sing in my memory like a concert from the mormon tabernacle choir. (and you know that is some good singing because they have special underwear.)

there are moments from your seventh year that sing so clear to me, too. this was a big year. this was the year of school and carpool and walks by yourself in our neighborhood. this year was legos and comic books and begging for harry potter (I'm still holding out on that one, and we are both going to be glad when it is finally time, just trust me on this one.) this year was still holding my hand everywhere we go, but shrugging so nonchalantly when I ask if you want me to stay for a few minutes at a birthday party. this year was reading, really reading, all on your own. this year was longer legs and a stronger body, but still not a single loose tooth.

and there are moments that shouldn't be so memorable, but there they are replaying over and over in my heart of hearts. they aren't memories of are important milestones, really. I don't have much to say about your first day of school. I missed your christmas pageant performance this year. I do remember the first time you held kitra, and that was pretty fabulous. but the things that are seared into my brain are these teeny little moments that didn't seem so big at the time, or don't seem like things my brain would cling to. I have clear visions of you first thing in the morning, when you and I are the only ones awake, when we don't even talk to each other, just snuggle up and read near each other. and I can see you running around and around the house after supper, front door banging behind you after every lap. little scraps of paper with elaborate scenes involving pirates and dinosaurs and fire littering every surface in the house. you hunched over your lego pile, squinting in the dark because you are so engrossed you can't be bothered to get up to turn on the light. reading with you in the bed at night when all I want to do is go to bed myself and you turn to me and say that you're sorry I can't leave yet but you really just want to be near me for five more minutes. these are the things I carry. these are the treasures my heart holds.

you are so terrific. you have this great sense of humor that is witty and clever, and you have a great laugh to go with it. you pay attention to little details. you pay attention to everything. you remember people's names, what is important to them, how they fit into life. your intuition scares me sometimes. you know how other people are feeling so clearly that it can be a bit intense. you are gentle in a way I am jealous of. you want to know how things work. you want to know why people do the things they do. you see patterns that I never notice. you love your sister with a fierceness. people always think you are so serious, and you are (until you are silly enough to drive us crazy). you expect a lot from people. you do not like raw tomatoes. you love hot dogs, something I am still trying to be okay about. you want people around you to be happy. your teacher told us over and over this year how happy she was to hear you giggle. you are an observer. you need a lot of time to get used to new ideas and changes in plans. you and cora have a secret language all your own. you are so fun to be around.

we are back at camp in new york to celebrate your birthday this year. you love camp. you love having so many people around willing to play with you. you love living in a place where there is so much to do. mostly I think you love the ownership you have of this space. I am not sure you would love camp as a camper if we didn't also live here and know all the staff so well. and the staff dote on you and cora as if you guys were the quinipet mascots. this morning they were excited to all be wearing their shirts inside out and backwards as a tribute to your (lazy) fashion trend, but you didn't want to go to the dining hall for breakfast for fear that "too many people might want to talk to you." it is hard to be an introvert in an extrovert's paradise, but you seem to be finding your stride quite nicely.

it has been hard to be away from home this time around. all of us are missing brevard and rabbit and kitra and mudflower in a strong way. you mostly cry for home when you are also bemoaning the tick population on shelter island, but even when the tweezers are put away, I know you really do miss our mountains. the thing that eric and I say to each other in bed at night when we are not sure why we are here or what impact we are possibly having on lives around us or even on our own lives, the mantra we repeat to each other in the dark is "our kids are thriving." if it weren't the case, we wouldn't be here. but we watch you (and cora too) coming into yourself in a beautiful way here. we see you across camp laughing and running and you come home eager to get right back in the mix with the overnight camp activities. you are dirty and sweaty and happy most of the time. and now is the season for it for you. I am so glad I get to watch it happen, even if it means being far from home and unsure about that. watching you revel in the life we are living makes all the rest worth it.

I am so proud of you. you are fun and funny and kind and honest and beautiful and gentle and smart and thoughtful and creative and intentional and intuitive and loyal and patient and focused and playful and observant and steady. you are such a gift to our family and this staff and to the world at large. you give me fresh perspective and intention every day. thank you for being. thank you for loving me. I am so very glad you were born. I am even gladder to be your mama.

I love you, a bushel and a peck and ten bazillion more,

mama