Dear Future Felix (since I wrote to your sister last time),
How are you? It’s been a quiet yet busy summer, I suppose. We don’t have any vacation plans, so everything is local. While all the vacation pictures other folks are posting online are killing me, you’re oblivious. You go to your school, hang with the friends and teachers you’ve grown to love over the past 3 years, and now take swimming lessons during the days. You know soon you’ll go to “big school” with Stella. I have no idea how you’re going to react to that when the time comes.
I have really mixed feelings about all that. I love your current school, and technically we could have let you stay another year. But holy moly we’re about to save a ton of money. It will be like getting an extra paycheck every month. We’re not rich. When your dad and I bought our house, we had all kinds of ideas for home improvement. Then I got knocked up. Then I got knocked up again. And while you and your sister are amazing – my best work ever, I must say – you have taken lots of time and other resources over the past 6 1/2 years. So yeah, our house looks like shit. And back to the school thing – you and your sister will once again be at the same place. You have no idea how convenient that is for your dad and me.
And I think you need it, honestly. You are so freaking smart – every bit as smart as your sister. But your brain works very differently. You are my builder, my engineer. Your mind is never quiet. Neither is your mouth, but that’s another matter entirely. Your imagination is the size of a football field. But you are so far stubbornly refusing to learn your ABCs. By now, Stella was reading – a lot. You? I think you know more than you’re letting on, but you need to be challenged. While it breaks my mom heart to think of you having to sit at a little table and wear those wretched depressing uniforms and not getting to just play freely nearly as much, I think you’d start to get very bored if I left you where you are for another year. So change is coming. Lots of it.
Dude, I know I’m going to get lots of notes home and calls from the school this fall. You simply cannot stop talking. I have never met a child that talks as much as you do. I don’t know how you can possibly think of that much to say. And I’m your favorite audience. I think it’s your way of processing what’s happening in your world. You keep a running commentary going about whatever it is you’re thinking about. And you ask a lot of questions. Stella never did that. You will ask me about a subject – tornadoes, sea cucumbers, snakes, the circulatory system have all been favorites lately – and demand that I tell you more and more until my knowledge is exhausted and we get somewhere with wifi so I can look more shit up on YouTube. Then you talk to me about it for hours. You may be a Jeopardy champion one day, with all the random shit you’re absorbing.
I do want you to know something: as much as you wear my ass – and my ears – out sometimes, I am grateful every day that you’re here, mine, and that you are the way you are. Your sister is amazing. She’s brilliant. She’s beautiful. But she can break my heart and make me worry unlike any other. You are my funny little dude. Holy shit, are you funny. You don’t even try to be. You are my comic relief, and there have been days I would not have weathered nearly as well or gracefully without it. Your latest? You have claimed ownership of both of the goofy cactus pillows Stella insisted on buying at Michael’s one day. Every night after I recite Wynken, Blynken, and Nod to you, you make me wedge them against either side of your head before I leave the room. You look like a botanic male version of Princess Leia. Who knows why?
I know you won’t always call me your MyMom or tell me that I’m your best friend. That last part would be a bit creepy later on, anyway. But no matter how big you get, you will always be my little bitty dude.
One last thing. Forgive me for all the chicken wings. This was the week I discovered how easy they were to make in the oven from scratch, and since you and your sister both scarfed them down – leaving none for your father – we’ll probably be eating them a lot for a while. Hurry up and learn to cook.