Dear Patrick,
- On the first of April, I had the idea to re-locate the popsicles from the front freezer to the back, and leave an empty box for you to find as a joke. “Let’s tell him that we ate them all,” your dad offered as my co-conspirator, but ultimately we decided that was maybe taking it too far - we didn’t want to be mean; we just wanted to be funny on April Fools Day. In truth, I never really "get" this day, and trying to explain it to you earlier that morning was like the blind leading the blind. A day that gives permission to deliberately trick, lie or fool another - why is this appealing? “Oh, it's harmless - it gives you a chance to laugh at yourself,” a friend told me later, which is fine, I guess, for adults who have a sense of self. But to possibly make a child upset by doubting what they know to be true - it’s just not for me - especially after this experience. As soon as we shouted “April Fools,” into your sad, little face, I knew this was wrong. You tried to smile, but I could tell you were upset. We tricked you - your own parents! We had never done this before. You were disappointed, embarrassed... and then you got mad. You clenched your hand into a little fist and out of pure frustration, you hit my leg. It didn’t hurt, of course, and I actually wasn’t sure if you too were just joking, but your father saw the intent on your face, and all of a sudden, we had another problem. “Don’t you ever hit a woman - I don’t care how mad you are,” your dad said while directing you to sit in the corner. There were a lot of tears and ultimately some good lessons learned for all three of us: respect, self control, mutual kindness, trust is sacred, forgiveness is important, and above all: don’t f&% with your dessert.
- You read the words: “nip,” “bug” and “tot” off a worksheet from school - you are getting really good at sounding out letters to make words. (You did, however, tell me that “F is for vagina,” so there is more work to do.)
- On Sunday 4/3 you threw the Harry Potter wand that the Cordell family gave you into the trash because apparently Millie had said that it wasn’t real. You explained to me with tears in your eyes, “It’s true - it doesn’t really make spells.” So, I told you that it’s magical as long as you believe in it, and that I believe in magic. I wanted to keep the wand. I’m not ready to let you give up on magic.
- Trying to remember what you had for lunch yesterday, you said, “Hmm... let me read the book in my mind.”
- Big Mitchell enrolled you in tennis lessons on Saturday mornings at 8:30am. He got you the greatest Air Jordan warm up suit! I’m not sure about your skills, but you do look the part.
- More exciting than Santa or the Tooth Fairy, are the “bathroom elves,” who you believe come out of a tiny hole where the tile meets the tub. You told me with a tone of dreamy wonder that you hoped to get to see one.
- All of a sudden this month you are into coloring. You asked to finish a piece of work that you started at school and I had to dig the crayons out of the bottom of the art box where they were banished over Christmas. It’s like a flip switched and you are now a crayola Picasso.
- Pollen kicked up and you began to cough - the kind that we couldn’t help even with extra nebulizer treatments. So the doctor put you on two inhalers for a week this month and we seem to be back to normal.
- Your father officiated the marriage of our friends Matt and Holley Owings this month in Pawley’s Island and he did a great job. You stayed in Greenville with Gangie and Big Mitchell, but you would of been real proud of him - I was.
- You use all the shampoos in the shower to wash yourself. If we aren’t paying careful attention you use ALL. OF. THEM.
- You are hungry this month - like nothing we’ve ever seen before. You ate a whole banana in the hallway on the way to brush your teeth before bed.
- We made a trip to Macon to visit “The Big House” museum and benefit dinner, a gift from Omi and Pop to your Dad. You had your own fun too: you played with Abby Grace, a play date set-up and the two of you solved treasure maps that Omi made. (Clever Omi!) You had dinner downtown (Tom joined), played baseball with Pop, milkshakes galore and “bought” games on Omi’s phone. So when the fun came to an end that Sunday morning, you were naturally sad to leave. And when we wouldn’t let you play the ipad, you pouted. “Patrick, you are unhappy - I hear you - but we are not changing our minds: there will be no ipad right now. It would be more fun to move on and enjoy the morning, but if you must pout - do it in the next room.” And you did. You threw yourself on the couch - you are so tall now that you took up most of it. You laid dramatically head-down into the pillows for almost 40 mins of nothing. No toys, no other people - your own banishment. Eventually you did come back into the room (with a smile no less) and asked for granola. Hunger won. But oh, what a tortured life you lead sometimes - the struggle within.
- You pick out your clothes most school mornings, but the striped shorts paired with the long-sleeved striped shirt and striped socks on 4/28 has been my favorite ensemble this month.
- Your Dad’s new hummingbird guitar arrived in a box big enough for you to stretch out and fit inside, and you asked to be shipped to Oklahoma.
- “Mom, don’t wake Dad up yet - I want a lot of snuggle time with him.”
Dear Patrick,
- This month started with the throw-ups and your stomach bug held us captive the entire day of Saturday March 5th. You hated throwing up (every 40 mins like clock-work), but you seemed to like the Pedialyte rocket popsicles we made, which was helpful. On Sunday you were back to normal and we celebrated with a hike in the fresh air outside Travelers Rest. Tandum for lunch and a game of Connect Four outside at the Swamp Rabbit Brewery made for a nice weekend after all.
- On Tuesday March 8th, I picked you up from school and you said, “I’ve got lots of love to share - its never runs out - just goes pop, pop, pop right in my heart.”
- It was Maeve Satterfield’s third birthday on Friday 3/11 and our families celebrated at Sidewall pizza and ice cream after. We rode home all together in the Satterfield van and you three laughed at the Winnie the Pooh movie playing on the monitor. I wish the trip home was 2 hours long - it was a lot of fun. We have a nice joint family photo together from that evening.
- “If you get a ticket,” you explained to me from the backseat as we drove home from school, “then you have to pay America.”
- At the “Donuts for Dad” event at school, you gave your father a survey you filled out (with your teacher) that told us that your father is 70 years old and likes to work in the yard.
- “Mom, do you want to be President one day,” you asked me. Sure I replied. “Well, you just have to believe and then you are,” you said with an easy shrug.
- After an (accurate) discussion on ages, you observed: “It’s kinda weird: you are smaller than dad but you are bigger [in age] than dad.”
- You had your first airplane flight on Thursday 3/24 as we traveled to Oklahoma to visit Uncle Jono, Aunt Jen and cousin Jack. As soon as the plane lifted into the air, you let out a huge belly laugh. You laughed so hard, the whole plane laughed with you. And when the plane landed, the pilot let you sit in his seat and push buttons on the dashboard. After that amazing experience, I found it interesting that you wanted to “work security” when you grew up. You said this so loudly that one of the TSA agents bent down as we made our way through the line to say, “aim higher, kid.”
- We had a great time in Oklahoma: you and Jack played together and with all the other kids on the street, who ran in and out of the house like the stars of a sitcom show. There were great meals, the Easter Bunny left huge baskets, pancakes were made, candy was shared, bedtime was relaxed, and there were trips to play video games and to drink icies. You did manage, at one point, to turn on the upstairs treadmill, which sucked your shirt into the belt leaving a scar, but now you have a cool scar (and an odd story!)
- Seeing your eyes darken
and tire one night in Oklahoma, I pulled you away from the fun and put
you into the bathtub to make a transition towards bed. You were not
happy. You could hear the others still laughing in the next room and you
said with a tired scowl, “Mom, I do not love you.” And just in case
those choice words didn’t communicate your utter disappointment, you
declined a hug and kiss too. The next morning, the very first thing you
did was climb into our bed and whisper in my ear, “you know I do love you.” Yep, I know, buddy - never doubted for a moment.
