Dear Jack,

I start this letter with some hesitation. There is no more bad news right now. Things are swinging up, a sunrise is happening, just as I knew it would. Going to those dark places has stolen some of my confidence, though. I have to get my momentum back to keep this record of you timely and accurate, and less about me. So, let's begin with the facts.

Many people have commented lately on your height. I see you getting leggier. For so long you seemed to grow from the belly button up, and now your legs are sprouting. Your shirts skim the waistband of your shorts and all of a sudden your pajamas are all too small. Your hair is long, too. I'm itching to cut it, but you seem pretty adamant about having long hair, so we'll let it go. I wonder if you'll decide you want a hair cut when the summer heat arrives.

You got a black eye from the swing in our backyard a couple of days ago. I looked at you today and thought you embodied a happy childhood. Dirt on your chin, scrapes and bruises at varying stages of healing, sticky sno-cone juice on your cheeks. You're living it, kid. No doubt.

That said, you've had some rocky, emotional days lately. You seem to obsess a little about perceived outcomes, convincing yourself that a desired thing won't happen and upsetting yourself in the process. There is a lot of "never" and "always" thrown around. I can often hear it coming as you get more and more animated, but I haven't figured out how to redirect yet. Many times I know you just need a hug. I have considered pulling the car over a few times recently to give you a snuggle. Why shouldn't I? I've written before about expectations and reality, and how tricky it is to find a balance between the two. Lowering expectations isn't usually a good thing; however, having astronomical expectations isn't any better. You threw a penny in a fountain today and I heard you whisper "I wish for an elephant." Dream big, kid, but remember we don't have room for a six-ton pet.

You've started saying "In fact," very often. You might say, "I love strawberries; in fact, they are my favorite fruit!" It's ridiculously cute. I've also heard you ask, "How so?" Your curiosity has always been one of my favorites things about you. You will know so much, son, if you only ask. And ask you do - a thousand questions a day. If you hear a word you don't know, you ask what it means. Every time. All day. You'll say, "Mom, you're being sarcastic," when indeed I am. You're sharp one when it comes to words. I'm excited that we can share this love of mine.

We went for a long weekend to the beach recently. We saw deer, rabbits, dolphins. snakes, and lizards. We flew a beautiful kite and built a huge sand castle. You ate shrimp, mussels, and scallops. I beat you quite handedly at Guess Who, though I had the distinct advantage of prior experience. We went to Charleston for the day and saw where Daddy went to college. We spent the afternoon at the aquarium and you got to pet a baby alligator and see a barn owl up close. It was a slow paced, peaceful weekend, and just what we all needed.

The first time we walked down to the beach, you ran to the shore, hopping over tiny waves and waving your arms high. You faced the ocean and shouted, "LIFE IS LIFE!" Your joy overflowed. I needed to witness that, just at that moment, in this season. I'm not one to forget my myriad blessings; it's not in my constitution. Sometimes it takes standing at the shore, feeling at once both very small and very powerful, to remember that simple truth.

Life is life, kid. You're awesome.

Mama