Love Is Like Laughter


Dear Jackson,

I know. I'm the worst. I'll make the same promise to you that I made to Sophia. I'll never be late with this letter again. But you other poomongers . . . well, no promises yet.

It's not that I forgot or didn't care. I took a whole week off to spend with you for your birthday. And I was having so much fun, I just didn't have the time to get to a computer. I know that's not a good excuse and you didn't ask for me to come stay with you but that's tough. Who else cooks you French toast and puts peanut butter on your apple slices?

You, Sir, have not diminished in the adorable area. Everyone who sees you can't help but smile.

Last week, we went out for sushi. We sat down and the hostess came running from out of nowhere. "You came back!"

She wasn't talking to Daddy or to me, the people who actually spend the money there. She was excited to see you, the kid who makes a mess. You win everyone over.

Your daddy held you when we were leaving and put you down as we walked out the door onto Mass Street. You threw your arms up in the air and hollered and laughed. This continued as rushed down the street. It was as though you were yelling "Freedom!" Every person you passed laughed and their gaze followed you as your little legs ran.

You have no other speed but run. You never walk. You're always rushing to somewhere. There's so many things to do and see and never enough time.

Which isn't to say you don't have time to stop and give those you love a good pat. A short and sweet gesture that says so much.

I know that since you're still so young and not yet talking that we tend to underestimate you, but you are smart and learn things so quickly. One of the presents I bought for you had a pirate on it. It only took me once to tell you that "A pirate says 'Aaaaar!'" and you had it down pat.

On a recent trip to Clay Center, Mamo was going through the usual "Where's your nose? Where's your belly?" routine.

She ended with what used to be the best and final part. "Where's your armpit?"

You showed her and then, even though she didn't ask, you pointed to your rear-end.

"That's his booty," Grammy explained. "Aunt Bee taught him that."

I really missed you last week. Not the diapers or anything. But after spending a week with you, going cold turkey was hard. There's no belly to blow raspberries on; nobody to sit and watch Spongebob with. I miss hearing your giggle. You've really won me over, Sir!

You've been through a lot in your first two years. Unfortunately, your life isn't going to be as careless and perfect as I had wished. But you're tough. And your family loves you. Every one of us would do anything we can to make you happy.

We figure we owe you.

Enjoy year number two!

Aunt Bee

Biker Boy

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