Not About Cupcakes

If this is your first time reading my blog, I owe you an apology. I was to write about The Kind Diet today, I actually have the book right next to me and a fair amount to say but I'm not feeling snarky or especially sharp. I spent a few hours at my son's school and took some nutritional notes: liked that the germy kids were given antibacterial stuff for their hands before lunch, noticed that the only people to really eat from the well-stocked salad bar were teachers and parents and found it especially interesting that not one adult turned down the quarter-sized cupcakes we brought in. But my mind is really not on nutrition today (for once). So please check back if you want my take on veganism or for other dietary discussions. Today I want to write about the days' events and not about cupcakes. Instead a letter to Weston...

Happy Birthday Weston. I just got back from your birthday celebration at school. We were the family of the week, had lunch with your K-C class and enjoyed tie dye and red velvet mini cupcakes. I left school and was struck by the day outside. It’s a perfect spring day. It’s sunny as can be yet there’s still a little bit of winter lingering in the air. You and Myles were each born on days like this. I remember taking you for walks, as infants, in this kind of weather. Today I was reminded of those walks, of those days.

I am a little sad. I know that’s so silly to say given that it’s such a special day but I’m feeling a little guilty that I haven’t sat down in these 6 years to capture some of your special days on paper. I think about you constantly and marvel at your questions and cuteness but unlike our numerous photos, I haven’t written about it and I hope we don’t forget anything. I have this sense you’re growing before my eyes and I want to take it all in.

You are quite a little person already Wes. You play piano and hockey, you ski and play soccer, you love math and workbooks and you do all of this so well. I found out I was pregnant with you after having foot surgery (and pain medication) and was so nervous that something would be wrong with you but not you! You’re a fighter Wes. You like to do things for yourself; you keep up with your older brother and are best buddies largely because of this. You get dressed, often before breakfast, yourself and like trying to tie your shoes.

And yet you’re little. You ride the chairlift with your teacher Janice every time, you don’t like holding your poles yourself, it’s a little scary. When you misbehave and I yell (see I’m being honest here, saying it like it is) there’s waterworks, tears flow from your eyes instantly. It breaks my heart every time but I sort of love how much you want to do what’s right.

While I love you being little Wes, love your baby teeth and your stuffed animals, I can’t wait to see what’s next. I’m so lucky to be your mom my sweet six year old.
Now, can you tell me why you didn't go to the salad bar?