DJ E

Happy 7th Birthday! So Glad You Have My Burial Site Picked Out!

My son turns seven tomorrow.

He’s 51 inches tall and has been in the same percentile for height since he was born. At this rate (yes, I researched it), he will be over 6’2 by the time he’s 19 years old and will be able to rest his chin on my head.

my son at two weeks old
At two-week-old, so much of his personality was already staring me in the face, not just his long legs.

He still loves dancing, but now I have to tell him THE MUSIC IS TOO LOUD.

DJ E
He djs our dance parties daily. DJ E in the HOUSE.

He still loves football and soccer and running. But now he is learning tennis. Soon there won’t be enough hours in the day for all the sports he enjoys.

He reads chapter books, but he’d play video games every no-you-cannot-play-today day of his life.

My son reading
It’s pays off to have strict screen time rules because I get to unexpectedly catch E reading. Be still my book-loving heart.

And he has never stopped building things. All things. Everywhere.

Siblings with their LEGOS
E builds LEGOS for his sister, too.

He adores his cats. His dog. His sister. Scott and I. His extended family. His friends old and new. He loves people and a child has to be mean to him for months straight for him to stop thinking of them as a friend. My black-heart is taking copious notes.

The one thing my son may never stop believing is death is a better option than cleaning his room, but he’s more apt to call it tired now and catch me off-guard other ways.

E: MAMA! You’ve never taken us there!
Me: Well… that’s a cemetery.
E: What’s a cemetery?
Me: It’s where they put people’s bodies after they die so those who miss them can visit.
{silence}
E: Is your Poppop buried there?
Me: No. My Poppop is in a Virginia Beach cemetery so Great Nana can visit him.
{the next day as we see it again because Scott works close by}
E: So people’s bones are in there?
Me: Yup.
E: We should bury your bones there when you die so we can visit.
Me: That sounds good.
E: Yeah, it’s a good thing little kids don’t die.
Me: Yeah…

Of course, our conversation didn’t stop with my burial plot, and I now have a date with my son at the cemetery across from Scott’s office. I’m hoping his math skills fail him there because I have four lies I’m comfortable telling my kids and everyone not dying until they are at least 80 years old is one of them.

Happy 7th birthday, my sweet, fun, irresistibly brilliant boy. See you at the graveyard, the football field, the couch, the dance floor, and in the backyard covered in mud.

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