September 2016: 72 months (6 years old)

Dear Patrick,

• I went to DC to visit Michael this month with Omi. You heard me telling your father about the side trip we took to Baltimore and you piped in, “Voldermort? You went to visit Voldermort?!”
• We wrote a poem on the way to school: “I like to run in the soft, tall grass / I like to run and I like to run fast / I like to run so I won’t be last." Yep, this is hard to get out of your head.
• As your dad was leaving with Uncle Sonny on their trip to Amsterdam, you got a little sad to see them leave. You hugged your Dad extra long.
• When your Dad was in Amsterdam, we got up early one morning and decided to do the school breakfast together just for fun. We went through the hot-line for eggs and grits and when we got to the cashier station, you put your arm out to block me and said, “I’ve got this mom” and punched in your food number. The other adults in the cafeteria offered us the big table, since I was there, but I declined in favor of sitting on the little chairs with your friends.  
• “What does ‘sid’ mean?” you asked. “Sid...ummm...well, what’s the context you heard that words? Use it in a sentence,” was all I could think to say. You were quiet and then you gave me your sentence very slowly and loudly: “What...does...sid...mean?”
• Bunky came to Greenville at the end of the month to leave his car across the street, and have a week with family before flying to Paris. 
• We celebrated your sixth birthday with Ninja style at the Little Gym and invited all your old Overbrook friends, the neighborhood crew and even a couple of new friends from Summit Elementary. You had a red-faced, needed water, felt like a king, great time and I'm so glad.
• We told you that you could not have a gumball before school and you were sad. I could see the water rim the bottom of your eyes. Your father and I walked ahead of you on the path to school but when we looked back, we saw you stomp your feet and find a weed to pull front the dirt and then throw it (extra hard!) back to the ground -- just because you knew we were watching. “I know you are upset,” I said, trying to help you put words to your feelings. “But we said no gum before school and there will be no gum.” I said this on a bended knee. I wanted you to know that we heard you so that you would feel understood. “Do you want to talk?” I pressed, hoping that communicating might help. You shook your head no and I let it go. We walked on. When our neighbor and friend Ashley Suber drove by and waved at you specifically, but you ignored her out of your anger for us, I bent down again and looked you in the eye. “It’s okay to feel mad, Patrick, but it is not okay for you to ever be rude.” We kept walking. When we got to school, the three of us parted. Your father and I were half-way back up the hill when we heard a yell: “Mooommm,” you shouted in front of the car line and the 5th grade safety patrol and all the other kids and parents... "Mooommm," you yelled again to get us to stop. There you were - this little figure - waving goodbye in your blue Air Jordan tennis jacket with both arms stretched above your head like an air traffic controller. I waved back - just as big - and blew you a kiss. And only because your father was there did I resist the urge to run back down the hill to pick you up in a bear hug and mutter "thank you" under my breath.