Oh my baby Nake,
I can hardly believe you turned 7 years old on March first. You continue to grow and evolve and become you through and through. As our annual tradition goes, this post is meant to freeze time for just a moment, painting a picture of seven-year-old Nate.
You’re my Sporty Spice. You’ve spent close to 10,000 hours playing indoor kickball against the front door. When that got too loud, you turned the laundry hamper into a basketball hoop and have challenged me to hours of front door Pig. Your skills and dedication are legit. As we recently traversed the blacktop at school and a ball rolled toward you I asked, “Nate, have you ever met a ball you didn’t need to kick?”
And you casually replied, “Nope,” as it then sailed through the air. Didn’t think so.
Baseball is now in full swing. Your “ready position” is impressive. This week at practice, Coach Woods highlighted your example as you called out from second base, “Play’s at any base. Play’s at any base!” You were thrilled the Easter Bunny brought you Big League Chew.
When it comes to the dugout, your baseball team is a Who’s Who of your main crew. Cruz is rising through the stack ranks this year. You generally cite Kai B. and Cruz as your main wingmen. Eddie, Finn, and Kai K. are also on your team. Unfortunately Jackson doesn’t play baseball, so after hours run-ins are generally at zip line birthday parties… there’ve been at least two.
On the catching front, you’re a crackerjack creator of the cootie catchers. Our living room shelves are littered with prototypes. I’ve read a number of the outcomes and they gravitate toward kissing Penelope or some sort of potty talk fate. Your love of toilets has not waned.
You thrive on re-lyricing songs with forbidden words and phrases, and continue to have strong opinions on music. While your brother’s ability to recite lyrics is extraordinary, you’re more in tune with the rhythm. I notice you unconsciously bopping to the beat in public places. You prefer to dance next to the dinner table versus sitting down at it. Your most favorite song is Pharrell’s Happy. Other recent faves include Heartache on the Dance Floor, the song we refer to as Rebel with a Kickstand and The Piper and the Lightning.
Without a doubt, you are hands-down the most generous person I’ve ever met. You are quick to share your treats, your desserts, your Easter candy. When your brother wants something, you’re generally quick to hand over whatever it is. You genuinely make selflessness look easy. Make no mistake, you can hold your own. You also have a healthy stubborn streak. But in the grand scheme of things, you give things away and I’m confident that you’ll get it all back and more. I really love this about you.
For your birthday dinner you requested hamburgers. You’ve also become quite the connoisseur of “shushi.” You’ll eat just about any roll or nigiri. You love quesadillas. You appreciate a good bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, followed by the variety of Honey Nut Chex. We have an ongoing disagreement about the appropriate matching of food to silverware. You continue to insist, “Broccoli is hand food Mom. Hand food.” For the record, broccoli is NOT hand food.
I love sour. You love sour. Pickles and lemons and vinegar. Kombucha is the leading “special drink” of choice.
When it comes to a complementary “special drink”, you’re my best pedicure buddy. So far we’ve had three manly-pedis. Your toenail polish always looks better than mine. Seriously. You’ve chosen an Elmo blue, a bronzy gold, and this last round, a metallic azure. You appreciate a good massage chair, a warm neck wrap and a foot soak.
And on the soaking front, you still prefer bathtubs to showers. You like all things that smell good, especially citrus and lavender. You still give me little flowers as presents.
You dig Pokémon, Minecraft and Legos. You recently finished a complete Star Wars Lego BB8– possibly your most ambitious project to date. You study Pokémon cards with a passion. This is likely why you’ve received several Pacheco Pride awards as a self-directed learner. You know your tens times tables like nobody’s business.
When it comes to the business of chores, you’re a great helper. You’re getting slightly better at holding your plate parallel to the floor as you’ve taken up after dinner dishwasher duty. It’s not instinctual.
This week we had our first family eye doctor appointment. My favorite part was when the technician asked you to read the letters with your eye covered and you asked incredulously, “ZOOP?” Your daily reading leads to questions about “Woley Fo-odds” and “Icky” (Icy) street signs.
I’m sad to report that you really dislike the name Nathaniel. It’s Nate. Strong. Simple. Rhymes with Great. And your jersey number eight.
I love you Nate the Great. You continue to delight us with your most infectious laugh, your deep insights and your remarkable wisdom. We’re so very proud of you and cherish every second of watching you grow into the unique and special person you are.
Love,
Mommy