our little corner of the world

Dear Matthew,

Today you are three whole years old. Happy birthday!

You're such a mature little guy. As the youngest in our family you've absorbed so much and it shows: your vocabulary is huge, your confidence is hardly lacking, and your desire to be self-sufficient is incredibly fierce. Combine all of that with your physical stature, and people often mistake you for a four-year old. I loved the reactions I received this summer when (at 47lbs.) I announced you were only two - shock and awe. When engaged in conversation recently, you excitedly shared that you were now "big" and that you would be going to preschool.
























All of your so-called maturity is most evident in your desire to be independent. Keeping up with Morgan and Andrew is of utmost importance, and when you're left behind, your heart breaks into a million pieces.

There are other things, too: You want to make your own toast, spread the peanut butter, roll out the pizza dough, brush your own teeth, open doors for yourself, almost everything. For some reason, though, we can't get you to take full responsibility in the bathroom. Despite being potty-trained since Christmas, pulling your pants up and down is like asking you to stop watching Thomas the Train. I've mentioned that this is a requirement for preschool in two weeks (remember, the place you are eagerly anticipating), and your rebuttal is a simple: "I don't want to go to preschool" and with a shrug of your shoulders, life goes on. When push comes to shove, I know you'll man up. Just not right now for me or Daddy.

This selective need for independence also makes it challenging to parent you. I am constantly mothering with two choices: Would you like to walk to bed or be carried? Do you want to sit or stand at the potty? Are you going to hold my hand or shall I pick you up? I'm not sure how long I'll be able to trick you into obeying me, but for now it works.









































As the baby of our family, you love to be the show stopper. A laugh from someone during your shenanigans only reinforces your behavior. Eventually you'll learn that folks don't find your body noises and - I'll be honest - obnoxiousness funny. Unfortunately, you won't be able to sail through life on charm alone.
























While those center-stage displays are deliberate and exasperating, it's your unintentional moments that are truly the most hilarious. Your face is so expressive when you speak. It's the combination of your lively tone and diction with raised brows or eye rolls or tilted head that make Daddy and I stifle our giggles. Most times you even refer to your father and I as "Dad" and "Mom", and to be honest, coming from a toddler (gosh, or maybe a preschooler?) like you, it sounds strange when you omit the ending that usually makes a two-syllable version of our names.



































Music is something you enjoy, specifically singing in the car, demanding TobyMac (or VeggieTales or Owl City) as you ride along, using the microphone we have at home, or even the acoustics in the Meijer vestibule to hear your own echo. For a better part of this year, you requested "Joy To The World" at bedtime. Lately, you've altered the lyrics of traditional tunes to fit the first words that come to your mind. I can't wait to see how you'll perform with your Kindergarten class in a couple years during the school Christmas program.

Reading is also a love of yours. On your current list of favorites? Anything to do with trains or rhyming, the "Llama, Llama" series, and (coincidentally? I think not...) the "No, David!" books. Thomas the Train is still a favorite, but not exclusively. Our weekly trips to the library are highlights for you.























Typically your play depends on which sibling you're interacting with. Hanging with Andrew, it's driving vehicles and riding bikes. You both thrive on competition and Andrew enjoys his chance to practice leadership. But when Morgan comes along, there's lots of pretend play. She becomes the director of the fun and makes a sweet effort to appeal to your level of enjoyment.






































You like puzzles and coloring, Play Doh and paint, cutting with scissors, anything crafty; riding bikes, chalking the driveway and blowing bubbles. In June, we took swimming lessons together and you screamed. Just three weeks ago you were jumping into a friend's pool. It's been fun to watch you grow and change.





































Your past year was much different than those previous. You're older and more capable, and that opened up opportunities for you to participate in things you hadn't before. It's true that you did more strawberry eating than picking, that on our Virginia roadtrip you rocked the roadside pitstop, and that you wandered on our camping adventure more than most. But those things would not have happened - and did not happen - until now. Whether you like it or not, you're now along for the ride in ways you've never been before, Matthew. Hold on.





































While you and I spend a lot of time together, Matthew, I feel confident in saying you most adore your time with Daddy. You two are pals from the potty to the playground. It may have started by accident - Daddy giving me a break - but it has turned into a deep love and understanding between the two of you. He always makes the dailies delightful. Brushing your teeth and washing your hands has never been so fun.









So here we go, off into another year of you, starting preschool, learning new skills, spending some time together alone, watching you sprout up into just the kid that God created you to be. Will you always do life big? I hope so, Matthew. I hope you make big impressions, spearhead big tasks, and share Jesus in big ways. I read somewhere that doing life big doesn't mean mean moving, but rather thriving where you're planted. I have no doubt this is you, Matthew. You were meant to bear fruit. You were meant for greatness.


I love you to pieces,
Mom

But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit. Jeremiah 17:7-8

Dear Andrew,

Happy 6th birthday. You are another year older, wiser, taller, brighter, faster, tougher. You are amazing! On the whole, it may not appear to most people that much has changed in your world, but as your parents, we get to see first-hand all of your growth. It's been a good year.

So what's new with you? An inventive, creative side to you has emerged. It started with your love of the LEGO: repeated assembly, following the "constructions" (as you call them) to erect new and exciting builds. Each time faster. Each time more pleased with yourself. Start to finish all alone.

Sometimes I think that's what you like most about building -being alone with your thoughts. There's a place somewhere in your brain that runs free and wild, yet very concise. A place that dreams big, detailed dreams for countless projects: boats, houses, ramps, all sorts of things. You ask for aluminum foil and straws and paper and tape - lots of tape - to take the possibilities of your mind and turn them into a reality.

Along the same lines, you've become enamored with two-story houses. Roof angles, dormers, second story windows, layouts, all of it. You draw them, you build them, you ask to go inside them. Anything to be on an upper level looking out at the world below. One of your favorite books is Building Our House by Jonathon Bean. Not only does this family construct their home from the ground up, but they live in a camper while doing it. What could be better?

During our own camping adventure last June, you had the time of your life. On our first night we walked to the beach, a chilly lake-breeze blowing off water that was even cooler. You were swept up in adventure in that moment, fresh off of swimming lessons, eager to dip yourself into the lake. Within minutes, you were in waist deep, the thrill overtaking the numbness you felt from frigid temperatures. These moments with you remind me that the joy of a journey can easily trump outcomes alone.





































You were built for bravery, Andrew. I love that about you. Bugs? No problem. New food? Happy to try. Swim without a life jacket? Eager to conquer that skill. These aren't mindless actions you take, but rather clear choices that you deliberately decide to defeat. A mark of true courage, always looking for the next success.













































































And when you do achieve victory? It's glorious elation. Big eyes, big smiles, big voice. These passionate expressions aren't always reserved for yourself, either. You are just as tickled when a friend can master a challenge. It's beautiful to watch you socially, to see your genuine care for others, your patience and thoughtfulness and concern. Just this week, I looked outside to see you helping Paul and Audrey's granddaughter. She was on your bike, and you held the seat in one hand and the handlebar in the other, using all your strength to hold her up and fulfill her dream of learning how to ride without training wheels. And when she pedaled twice alone, you celebrated and squealed and were so proud of your friend's achievement. You are very loyal, Andrew, and will be a great friend to many in your lifetime.

Also making the milestone list: the loss of your first tooth, learning how to swim, playing a sport, increased time with Matthew, sleeping (mostly) without your thumb, many new things. But after writing these letters to you for, now the 6th time, there are repeated interests. Things that I think will always stick.























Cars, trucks and trailers probably hold the #1 spot on your interest list six years running! Vintage or new, it doesn't matter. You like details, wheel designs and spoilers, you'll watch from any window. Most days you make crazy combinations of truck-pulls from the vehicles we have downstairs. This morning you were thrilled to open a LEGO Vehicle Transporter, a gift that combines so many loves in one place.
























You are also still incredibly fast. Running for the sake of running is okay, but now it's about the competition. Who can you beat? How much time will it take? What are the results?
























Passion remains strong in the stories you tell, so vivid and filled with detail. You have so much to share. Even your prayers are beautiful sentiments of your innermost wishes. Tender and sweet. These are probably not characteristics you'll be honored to have a few years from now, but I hope they resurface and remain as you grow. It's who God made you to be. It's something your wife will love about you someday also... that you put her first, that you care deeply about her, that you notice and observe and share from your heart, that you aren't afraid to pray.

At this time and place, though, life is much more simple. You love chewing gum. Salad with ranch dressing and croutons is a sure thing. So is trying on glasses. And there's something about you and shoes. Thanks to all the hand-me-downs, I'd venture to guess you own the most footwear in this house and that suits you just fine. Most pairs need to be laced up tight because you have this thing about being snug. Drawstrings, too. Long and lean, you are.