To Matthew, On Your 6th Birthday (Or Two Days Later)

My dearest Matthew,

Another birthday has come and passed. Can you really already have experienced six years of life?

I watched you yesterday at the bus stop. We walked alone, because David still slumbered after staying up half the night. And so . . . while he tried to catch up, you and I said family prayers alone and then, talked about the day ahead of you at school and whether or not you would get to go to gym or the library. I remember in our prayers that I asked for Heavenly Father to protect your ears and your eyes. I pray He will continue to be with you, as you are away from me during the day.

At any rate, I watched you at the bus stop. Yes, that’s what I wanted to address. You were so excited to tell your friends about your birthday presents and cake from the night before. Your eyes danced with excitement and your hands gestured to tell the story. But for whatever reason this little boy did not feel interested in your story. You continued trying to tell him, but to no avail. Then, you got on the bus, asking for reassurance on the steps that I would wave goodbye to you while the bus pulled away. I assured you I would.

When you tried to sit down next to this particular little boy, he scooted to the edge of the aisle and told you that you could not sit with him. Of course, you asked the bus driver what you should do, because it never occurred to you that someone would dislike you. From there, you sat a few seats back on the other side of the bus.

My heart sank a little bit, because I realized that this year and from now on, people are going to change in your little world. While you will always be this super fantastic, wonderful, special, handsome, dreamy, and nothing short of amazing little boy, full of joy and excitement, all contained in one little body, I know that you will have to meet some who do not see these incredible gifts and talents about you.

Some people will try to hurt you or drag you down. I pray that you will rise above. I pray that you will look to Jesus and hold to the stories and lessons we’ve told you about Him during family home evenings, on our walks, while we’ve played, and from family scriptures. I hope He is who you will always try to emulate. I pray that you will continue to have those missionary eyes, like when you told me the other day, “Mom, our neighbor Jose is not a member of the church. We need to tell him about the Gospel.” I pray that you will keep that innocence and sweetness about you. That you will not pick up on the negativity, but, rather, you will be optimistic about your life. I hope you will keep your excitement, like when you tell me something really cool that you just learned about a shark or a rocket and you become so expressive that I find myself captured and therefore, mirroring your each move and facial expression. I love your silliness and laughter like the time we let someone off the elevator and the Southern woman replied, “Bah (bye).” You, without hesitation, replied, “Bah” with a sparkle in your eye, a lifted shoulder, and your head slightly tilted. How could I resist you at that moment? I pray that you will continue your lego building, your reading, and writing. I hope you will continue to enjoy my cooking (Well, most of it anyway.)—like when you told the babysitter a few week’s ago, “My mom’s such a good cook.” I anticipate holidays with you. You have such a desire to carry out our traditions and do crafts. I love that you enjoy reading with me. Some of my most favorite moments of the day and memories in the past are when you and I have curled up on my bed to read Charlotte’s Web, The Witches, Where the Red Fern Grows, and more. I hope you will continue to look to your church teachers as heroes. I hope you will continue to act as an example to our family, like when you remind us that we need to say prayers and read scriptures before bed. I hope family movie night or football game night will continue to be one of the main highlights in your week. I hope you will continue to love your brothers and serve as a beacon of light for them. In short, I hope that you will continue to have this zest for life. It’s contagious.

I have loved you since I found out about you. I have loved you before then. I loved the idea of you. Your name means gift from God. It seemed perfectly fitting, because that is what you have been in our lives. Oh, how I love my Teus, Teus.

Since you’ve left for kindergarten many mornings and spare moments have been spent on my knees. I’ve pleaded with the Lord to protect you and be with you. I’ve watched home videos and shed tears, because I know you’re growing up. The terms of my loan on you are being expended much too rapidly.

Last week, I met with your new kindergarten teacher. Between her observations, the counselor’s, and your teachers last year, they decided to take you entirely out of special education classes and leave you without a para. My heart jumped for joy, because our early intervention accomplished its purpose. But I also cried. Mommies have fears too—especially when it comes to their little ones. I told your teacher I feared the what if’s and leaving my comfort zone. I knew that in the special education program under your IEP that you were guaranteed to succeed, because you were given all of the attention you needed. It’s scary to think that you can do this on your own, but I know things are going to be fine. The resources are still there if we need them. And you still have amazing teachers at school working with you.

In the mean time, I anxiously anticipate each Thursday when we have our regular lunch dates and then, I read to your class afterwards. I love how you tell everyone that I’m your mom and you act like you’re so grown up (I can tell, because you tilt your head to the side, lift a shoulder, and give this specific look—your “cool” look.).

Where will you be next year? I don’t even like to think about it. For now, I just want to continue each day I have with you. I hope you’ll continue to let me hold you once in a while and call you my baby and sing to you. I hope you will still want me to scratch and/or rub your back. I hope you will want to tell me all about your latest adventure or learning. I hope you’ll still be interested in your primary songs. I hope you won’t rub all of my kisses off your cheek and I hope above all else that you will feel of my love and know that you are a part of me. Somewhere on the inside, my heart flutters for you. Thinking about you makes me feel entirely twitterpated and I feel like the luckiest mom alive. What a special boy you are. Happy 6th birthday, my dearest Matthew.

Loving you,

Mommy (Can you still call me this?)