My dear, dear JJ,
Please forgive the delay… I seem to be running about one year behind on just about everything. Luckily this blog isn’t quite that delayed. You’re nine and a quarter… which means I’m still well ahead of your Platform 9 3/4 t-shirt.
It just completely blows my mind that you’ve gone from that chubby-cheeked nonstop Baby Boss to the big kid you are now. In my annual tradition, here’s a little glimpse into nine-year-old Jacob.
If Nate is our Sporty Spice, you’re our Spicy Spice. Over the past year or so you’ve declared your love for Daddy’s tacos, and a generous helping of Cholula. Your newfound love for tacos and sushi have saved our culinary lives. Though sushi is a double-edged sword. While my stomach appreciates you’ll eat just about anything, my wallet votes for grilled cheese.
And speaking of differences, this year has mostly been about you and Ron and Hermione. I mean you and Otto and Veronica. It seemed you were all getting along swimmingly until the last few months of the year where you and Veronica turned into oil and water. Mr. Mayfield said he has never felt more like a marriage counselor– you on one side of the couch with your arms crossed, and V on the other with her hand tucked under her chin. Hopefully summer’s temporary separation helps to build each other up, instead of knocking each other down.
When it comes to building and creating and imagining what could be, you take the cake. You spend every waking moment planning how you’re going to build an entire town with a zoo and a high school and office space. You design your own comic books and graphic novels and illustrated Minecraft newspapers, including sponsored advertising. You love to spend hours with me drawing and designing our perfect tree house, our ideal future house, a new dog pen, or where we should put things in the barn. This afternoon you came up with a plan for the Halloween party we should throw seven months from now, including crafts and games and a costume contest. Your Bean-Boozled prize idea was genius– a trick and a treat all in one.
You design and manufacture your own Pokémon cards and characters. You whipped-up your own Plants versus Zombies board game one afternoon. Another time you created an entire bakery out of construction paper. All of your businesses are most definitely for profit. You have an innate knack for business– continuously peppering me with questions on profitability and wages and supply chain logistics. My mental math is constantly being tested and quizzed and challenged. Today you figured out the business reasons behind the discrepancies in pricing between proprietary games like the Xbox versus the open platform that is the Apple App Store. These things make intuitive sense to you.
And when it comes to intuition, strategy, and planning, you’re ten steps ahead. You love chess and you say things in an ominous voiceover like, “It’s a game of strategy. And sacrifice.” A few weeks ago I asked you to be more gentle with the chess pieces and you carefully laid a trap. You’re convinced you’re smarter than me, which may in fact prove true. But oh contraire mon frère, the sweet ingenue replies, “Why how would I know the value of this hand-painted chess set? There is only one man who knows. And that man is… (dun dun dun) Santa Claus.”
You’re known for adding a well-timed dun dun dun.
Speaking of traps, years ago you mastered the art of “cutie eyes.” You use them in real life and in illustrated “persuasive letters” written specifically to me and left on my pillow.
On the topic of persuasion, you start every single thing you say with, “Mama?” And then I respond. And then you tell me something bizarre or strange or hard to believe. Today it was a fact about blue flames melting glass in less than a minute. I’m never entirely sure. Since the moment you could form sentences, you’ve possessed the knack to utter just about anything with such authority and confidence that seventy-year-old women always believe you. Especially Grandma.
This year you decided not to play baseball and instead became the big brother of all the little baseball brothers. You took them to the playgrounds and taught them to climb trees. They marched behind you with sticks held high. You taught them to scale the forbidden roofs of CL Smith storage sheds and provided endless piggy back rides. You’re generous with my gum and snacks and earned yourself a well-deserved following. You’ve decided you’d like to be a camp counselor and recognize the lack of gender diversity in camp counseling.
Therapeutically speaking, you’re intent on things that are cool. You dab. You floss. You have a Minecraft backpack and people know you as “Creeper Bob.” You’re fiercely protective of your unstructured leisure time. You want access to coding and Legos and robots.
You’re motivated by Lego robots and challenges. You’re intent on having your own money. You like to be on time or early. You made it across the ninja line after numerous attempts, but mostly to win a pack of Pokémon. For Mother’s Day, you mapped the entire breakfast in bed tray including labels and checkboxes to track the process. You know every word to all of the songs on the radio– it’s impressive. We still read together every morning and most nights. Of course you could read them yourself but we like our time together.
I love watching you grow and learn and become exactly who you already are. I love you Jakey Cakes. Every little funny, stubborn bit of you. We’re so proud of you and are doing our best to savor every single second.
Love,
Mama