Four

I waver ...
on a daily basis -
between wanting to hug the crap out you,
or sell you on the corner to the first bidder.
You and the dog.
You talk back more,
and listen less.
You scale my couch,
the tables, my counter
and the stair railings.
You fly off beds,
and sail over steps.
Most days I can't figure out
where
the heck
your shirt
has gone.
Where do you put them?
My house is strewn with
hockey sticks and baseball mitts,
hundreds of matchbox cars,
crayons, trains and monster trucks.
There are cardboard boxes,
stacked along walls used for various
playtime castles, locker rooms, and monster truck rally lots.
And currently as I type there's a Lego stuck to my ass.
And I wouldn't change a bit of it.
I smile ear to ear on a nightly basis,
as I quietly pick up after the whirlwind
that is my soon-to-be four year boy.
As I've done every year since before the night you were born,
I sit here.
Wondering. Contemplating. Remembering.
Smiling and crying.
I know that on the eve of April 16th,
four years ago,
I had every expectation and no idea of what
motherhood
would bring.
Four years buddy,
and nobody has killed each other -
well, yet.
Of all the things I could say,
I'll say this ...
Nobody can make me smile quite like you.
I'm so proud that you're my son.
Santa does in fact live too far away for you to visit,
even if you have a magic car.
I'm pretty sure the "Mini Mightasootas" are not an NHL certified team.
Sharks don't live under your bed, I promise.
And stop taunting the dog when you have turkey in your mouth ...
She's going to bite your face one day.
Happy Birthday Sully.
You are everything I had hoped to do right in my life.
(And maybe a little bit of wrong. Troublemaker.)
I love you to the moon and back.

-Mom