My dear Miles,
Kindergarten is done. You rocked it, for real. I am so very proud of you for all you accomplished this year. You can read, which is no small task. You claim not to like to read, but you certainly seem to take pleasure in being able to read signs, informational blurbs on the video games you play, and food labels. Often at dinner, you show off your reading skills by reminding us that you know how to spell “organic ketchup.” You are still a high achiever in math as well. You’re taking a summer class at Willowwind called “Math Wizards,” which from what I can tell mostly involves solving little puzzles on worksheets. You seem to like it well enough, especially since your good friend James is in it.
Photo by Denny
The last day of school was lots of fun. Mubby and Skittergramps came to join your dad and Tobin and me, and we all went to school and had a picnic lunch with you. Then we watched you sing songs about your growth and accomplishments with your friends (yes, I cried a little), and we watched a slideshow of the various activities you’ve done in school this year. We had ice cream sundaes, for which I donated a bunch of ice cream that never got used. I guess we’ll be having ice cream sundaes at home this summer.
Photo by Gary Clarke
The day after your final day as a kindergartner, we had a mini choir concert. It was only half an hour long, but I think it’s the best you’ve ever done. You had four solos (if you count the two verses we sang together in one song as two). You were just so brave, and your voice was strong and clear. I was looking at your dad in the audience, and he was tearing up, which made me tear up, which was inconvenient because I needed to sing. Why do you have to be so darn sweet, Miles?
Photo by Gary Clarke
You’ve been, for the most part, pretty pleasant to be around lately. You do get into uncooperative moods sometimes, and we’ve been hearing “Not fair!” in a whiny tone all too often. I don’t think you really know what it means, because you just say it when you don’t like a situation, whether it has anything to do with fairness or not. You’re still stubborn, and you still refuse to admit you’re anything but 100% right, ever. This can cause conflict with friends sometimes. I hope that as you continue to grow socially, you are able to laugh off perceived slights and disagreements. We’ll work on it.
You still hate repeating yourself and answering questions to which you think the asker already knows the answer. I agree; it’s annoying. But sometimes you just have to suck it up and tell your brother for the fourteenth time what’s in your cup.
It’s probably apple juice. You love apple juice.
Your current favorites, besides apple juice: cinnamon graham crackers, Hebrew National hot dogs (with organic ketchup), the cuisine of Noodles & Company and Z’Marik’s, watching videos of other people playing Wii games, actually playing Wii games (especially Mario 3D World and Mario Kart), and drawing and writing in your sketch book. You learned how to draw a stylized pigeon at school, and boy have you drawn a lot of pigeons. You made a book called Pigeon Wants a Puppy. The pigeon had to read five books to earn a puppy. The puppy was smaller than the pigeon.
Your dad has to drag you outside to the park in the evenings, because you’d rather be sitting in front of a screen. Once you get out, though, you usually have fun. It’s good for you to play with the other neighborhood kids and use your leg muscles a bit.
I think we’re going to have a good summer, Miles. Your classes are only in the mornings, so we’ll have plenty of time to explore various playgrounds, go to the library, and cement the ingredients of a Superman Flavor Ice into the Flavor Ice lady’s brain. We haven’t been to the Natural History Museum yet this summer, so we ought to do that too. We should do some swimming and playing in the downtown fountain. I hear the movie theater is doing discount kids’ movies. Yes, we will definitely have some fun.
Photo by Gary Clarke
Every night, you and your brother and I start out in your bed together, and every night, as soon as we turn off the light, Tobin says, “I’m leaving.” He jumps out of bed, says, “Bye, Bubby,” and heads downstairs to play with your dad for a while. Then you say, “Well, I guess it’s just you and me.” I cuddle up to you and enjoy that alone time while I wait for you to fall asleep.
I know that what I really should do is convince Tobin to stay in bed, but the truth is, I don’t get much time with “just you and me” anymore. That’s probably not going to change any time soon, so I send him on his way and cherish those minutes as you fidget, toss off your blanket, pull your blanket back on, kick your legs around, roll over, funch, and eventually fall asleep.
I love you, my sweet Miles. I’m so proud of you.