To my dude who won’t let me call him Sweetie, Baby, Honey, etc. anymore. Oh no. You are too cool for that these days. Cuz, you know… SEVEN and all.
Seven years ago today Gavin, SEVEN years ago we were sitting in a hospital room awaiting your arrival. SEVEN years ago and it truly feels like just a few weeks ago. I know everyone says that, and it sounds SO cliché, but it is so darn true.
My original birthday post for you was going to be all about how you came into our lives. It is written and awaiting publishing, but as I proofed it, I realized it wasn’t so much about you as it was about Daddy and me. I am saving that post for Miracle Monday because, Gavin honey, your entrance into our world is nothing short of miraculous. BUT, I decided to make this birthday post all about YOU!
Gavin the things that make you who you are truly are unique.
At seven, you still cannot stand for your hands to be sticky or covered with strange substance, especially when it comes to food. You will ask me to cut food into pieces, including peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so you don’t get jelly on your fingers. However, you refuse to use a napkin. What gives? You would rather stop eating, go wash your hands and come back and repeat the same process 5 times during a meal. Also? You have no problem digging in the mud and picking up a worm or a live frog. Yet, you won’t eat a donut covered in powdered sugar with your hands.
At seven, you are now in full day first grade. You love it and all your teachers through all your years of school so far comment on how kind and respectful you are to all the students. I love that about you, Gavin. You rarely exclude others. You are kind and gentle and pleasing. You are loyal and honest. You are open and not afraid to try something and fail.
At seven you smile constantly. Everyone remarks on it. Teachers, coaches, friends, friends of friends, family, friends of family, strangers on the street, cashiers at the check-out line – everyone notices what seems to be a perpetual smile on your face. It is contagious and I think it shows the outward appearance of your inwardly happy heart.
At seven, you are a stickler for the rules. You abide by them pretty regularly and you tell others when they are not. While sometimes it worries me that someday you will be an outcast for being such a rule follower, I know I would rather have you this way than rebellious and dishonest. You do not lie. You thrive on routine.
At seven you are struggling a bit with sibling rivalry with your 5-1/2 year old brother. You don’t lose graciously to him, but you do to everyone else. You DO exclude him from some activities and you blame him for almost everything. You have had a blame issue going on for quite some time, but the fault seems to have shifted to Grant as of late. However, he is your best friend and vice versa. You look for him when you awake and you compliment each other’s ying to the other’s yang.
At seven, you still collect things. When you go on nature walks with grandparents, you stop along the way and collect expelled shotgun shells, birds’ eggs, acorns, scrap pieces of paper, interesting rocks, etc. When we are in the parking lot, you will pick up buttons and receipts and any other “treasures,” as you like to call them, and tell me you are adding it to your collection. Your collection sits in an abandoned toolbox Daddy gave to you. You thought the toolbox gift was such a rite of passage and were so thrilled about it. In actuality, Daddy gave you the toolbox to limit the size of your collection. All “treasures” must fit inside the toolbox.
At seven, you love Webkinz. You carry your “stuffies” around quite often feeling out those around you to see if they are into it or not. If not, you place them off to the side and ride your bike and skateboard like no other seven year old. If your friends are into Webkinz, your animals get to come along for the ride or jump on the trampoline or whatever activity you choose. You also love Star Wars and Indiana Jones and Spongebob and any Japanimation show, yet you will still watch Clifford and even an occasional Dora/Diego episode (if you don’t have control of the remote, which is rare). You constantly teeter on the threshold from little kid to big kid.
At seven, you do not play with your inside toys much. In fact, we have little left because you and Grant prefer large motor skill toys. One of your friend’s parents dubbed our house the X-games house due to the bike/scooter ramp and constant parade of bikes ascending up and plummeting down its inclines and because of the wheeled vehicles – Ripstick, scooters, skateboards, rollerblades, bikes in perpetual use in our driveway and down our walk. And because of the trampoline and playhouse/clubhouse with monkey bars and apparently optionsl ladder as you often scale the walls to enter. Yes, your love and interests are outside.
At seven you are still a lousy eater. Picky does not do justice to describe your eating habits. You are stubborn and refuse to eat vegetables unless threatened with the loss of one of your beloved wheeled modes of transportation listed above. Even at that, I realize a bite or two is all I am going to get for now and hey, it’s a start. I love you too much NOT to force some healthy food on you, though. Trust me, Gavin; I am trying to get you to expand your palate for your own benefit. You believe chocolate is a food group and would consume your weight each day in liquid form as long as that liquid is not water.
At seven, you are unique and fun. You are eager to learn. You make new friends constantly. You are a joy and a blessing. You help those around you learn more about the world through your eyes each day. I can’t imagine life without you, Gavin. Your smile, your honesty, your discussions and your enthusiasm brighten this world with your own personal ray of sunshine.
All my love, Gavin. All my love.
Happy Seventh Birthday, Buddy!