My dearest Nate,
It’s seriously September and you know what that means? Time for Mama’s belated birthday letter attempting to capture just what ten-year-old Nate is like. This year I’m going for a new Day-in-the-Life format. You know, fourteen thousand steps in your shoes… you’ll see.
7:00AM: You stumble from your bed, Kramer-style, and after a quick bathroom stop go directly to the kitchen table. You crouch on the metal chair, squatting like premier league coach Marcelo Bielsa. You shovel Honey Nut Cheerios into your mouth like a shirtless and famished orphan. Then you shovel Honey Nut Chex in like you don’t know where your next meal is coming from. You immediately scamper back to your bed and pull the covers up to your chin while you stare into space.
7:15AM: I think you take a shower. If standing under hot water counts as bathing. Since the pandemic started you’ve been pretty cagey on your bathing frequency. You think getting me to smell your armpits as proof is a great idea. I disagree. You love to wrap yourself in your hooded towel and lay on the bath mat or lounge on the couch. You appreciate being “nude.”
7:30AM: You generally choose a soccer jersey, shorts, and a sweatshirt. You’re a creative and lightning fast dresser. Any color combination is possible. Fluorescent green with red– why would you even comment? You seem to be naturally built for athletic team life where they provide you with matching clothing and tell you what to eat. Lately I’ve noticed a decent routine of brushing teeth, combing hair, and deodorant.
7:45AM: You’re highly attuned to time. You hate being late. Your Fitbit doubles as the time keeper for all people that surround you, big and little alike. After Dad drops Jake at Laguna, he lets you out at Pacheco where you’re in your second year of upper classmanship. Fifth grade is obviously the big time.
8:25AM (unless this is Monday, then it’s 9:25AM… don’t even get me started): You’ve got Maestra Del Toro and Mr. Marthaler this year. I don’t know what he does exactly, but that Mr. Marthaler just keeps getting 5-star reviews from the lads in our house. I really have almost no idea what happens during your class time at school. You don’t share much. You like math. And sciency things. I do know that at sometime during the painfully too short 15-minute morning recess, you head to the cafeteria for…
10:25AM: Honey buns. Or pan dulce. Or sometimes cinnamon rolls. It seems all food is free at school this year and the daily bakery has plenty of customers. You’re a vocal fan of the honey buns. I don’t even know what those are but I’m confident they’re dessert for breakfast.
11:50AM: I imagine you inhale your lunch from your Man City lunch bag and then head straight to the field that appears to be ruled by King Moi versus King Nate. There are many team-picking stories and we’ve had a lot of after-school talks about making sure the teams aren’t being divided into native English speakers versus native Spanish speakers. It sounds like that’s improving. I like that there are a lot of stories about a player named Ronaldo, even if he is the pushiest one. Maestra Irion’s version of daily events is dramatically different than King Nate’s. In your stories there isn’t a single mention of girls being excluded. Sus.
2:50PM: You’re free and burst into the sunshine. Bishop’s Peak looms large in the distance. I can easily see you from my car across the playground in your fluorescent yellow sweatshirt. Because of COVID we all have to circle the campus and wave from our vehicles. Every day you and Cruz come racing across the fields. Two blond heads. Two big backpacks. Cruz has a shark mask. I see it in the dirt most places I go.
3:00PM: We take the big loop down Foothill and Los Osos Valley Road to the golf course to get Jacob. Now that soccer has started I try to buy Jake’s patience to hang out for 2 and a half hours with stops at the Whole Foods sushi cooler. You usually want mochi or macarons.
4:00PM: Then it’s off to soccer practice. You go to Club on Mondays and Wednesdays and AYSO on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Every so often you complain but mostly I can’t get you to leave. You can shoot a ball at your buddy for hours. Your jersey is #8. Now that I’ve taught the team parents that “Nate’s Eight” everyone knows your name. You had your first Club game today in Santa Maria and it was like a new team. We won 8-2. You had a hat-trick and an assist as goalie. Your soccer ego continues to grow but you do a decent job of keeping your bragging contained to the inside of my car.
6:00PM: We pull into the driveway and you’re off to your chicken chores. You’re good about washing your hands with soap and putting your new blue Phantom shoes and your lunchbox away. Of course you want to squeeze in some time playing Minecraft or Fortnite with your friends. Over the pandemic you finally got sick of playing Fortnite with your buddy Oscar. This past week you got a VR headset which is an entire post on its own. You love wandering around the living room with this thing on your face that makes you look like a zombie, waving your arms in space.
6:30PM: You’re the last one to the dinner table. Always. You still gravitate to seafood, sushi, Mexican food, and hamburgers. Last week you told me you don’t even know why anyone would want steak… “It’s so tasteless.” Meanwhile you were completely fascinated with eating roasted jalapeños and nopales out of Daddy’s and my lunchtime molcajete today. If I say something is too spicy or curiously foreign your eyes light up. The idea of eating cactus totally appeals to you. You ate all of it. You struggle to sit down at the dinner table. It’s a parental tight rope. You just seem to need to eat and dance. Next to your chair. After dinner you’ve taught yourself to use the ice cream scooper. Your commitment to McConnell’s Double Peanut Butter Chip has inspired the development of new skills.
7:00PM: This is usually when you really need a shower and somehow distract us into not noticing what you’re up to. You dance your way out of the kitchen. Sometimes there is music.
8:30PM: After three to four reminders you go to brush your teeth with your electric Quip toothbrush and don your little pajama bottoms covering your little bottom. I used to tease your dad about his “default song”… which was the song he was always singing as he made his way through the world. Your latest is Vanessa Carlton’s 2001 hit, “Makin’ my way downtown, walkin’ fast, faces pass and I’m homebound…”
8:45PM: You dive into your bed like a stuntman. You’ve been reading Harry Potter with your headlamp while Jake and I read. This is also when I attempt to guess your exact Fitbit step count with a game of higher and lower until I finally get it. A Good Nate Day is a minimum of 14,000 steps. Anything less and the goofball meter is off the charts.
9:00PM: Lights out. You are the first to sleep and the last to get up. You like the covers pulled over your head like Grandma. I’m convinced you’ve never had a bad night’s sleep. I give you lots of kisses and special appetizer names.
I love you my Baby Nake. I’m so happy to see you so happy back out on the fields and living your best life.
Love,
Mom