Dear Ames,
You are seven, which means you are halfway to teenager–not that that has any real meaning to you, but to your parents it entails a whooooole lot. You’re still keeping me on my toes and saying things I don’t expect, like when I decided I didn’t want to call you or Rowan “sweetheart” anymore, and asked what you wanted me to call you; you told me to call you, “my son”–ok, I was going for something more old school, like an overdramatic pronunciation of darling, but sure, that works too.
We officially started homeschooling this past year, but you are definitely the one making me get my mom education. If your little siblings have a super awesome mom one day, it’s because I’ve been learning to be your mom–you are so different from many in so many ways, and yet in others so alike. If my abilities in parenting have grown its because of learning to be a good parent to you. Alright, enough sappiness–you’ll learn one day mommy cannot handle such emotions and sentimentality without being seriously uncomfortable.
Keep being adamantly you, even if it drives me crazy a lot of the time.
Love,
Mom
