March 2016: 66 months (5 years and 6 months)

 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.