I STILL laugh at the ridiculous dancing green bean, all elbows and knees and giggles, bopping across the floor after bath – – even though you don’t do it so often anymore.
I run the headcount with you before bed: Bucky, Snookums, Mr. and Mrs. Chucklebottom, Bob, BlackLack, Sophie, Striped Bucky, Rudy, mini-Rudy…
I catch you on the couch. In my bed. At the table. On the floor. Walking across the lawn. In the little nook you set up at Nana and Pop’s house. Reading. Always reading.
I am amazed that you figured out how to change the color of your Minecraft sword to the perfect hues of Pink and Orange Bucky.
I kind of get a tickle in my throat as I watch you march up to the children’s librarian with your notebook of ideas, to ask whether you can start a book club this Fall.
I breathe deep watching you sing “Happy Birthday” to JohnJohn, even though it’s actually your birthday and your cake. I know you wish for magic powers, but, you know, you already have them.
I run all those 5Ks with you all over again, chatting about this and that, repeating “I am awesome. I am awesome. I am awesome.”
I hear Joseph’s laughter pealing throughout the house as you crack him up with “A Kooka Maraca Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Nana, A Kooka Maraca Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Nana…”
I trip over the power cords to one of your cousin’s laptops as I pass your Minecraft huddle.
I try to revel in your independence and be grateful for it instead of missing you, as you march away from me to go to camp, without even a backward glance.
You are a joy, so poised and competent and interested in everything.
I love to watch you in the world.
Happy Birthday, Sweet Molly McGurkles!