My dearest Miles,

You’re seven and a half now.  This seems like a time when you’re straddling the little boy/big boy divide.  You still like a lot of little boy things, like the rides at City Park, cuddling at bedtime, and a diet made almost exclusively of carbohydrates (with a few hotdogs and orange chicken thrown in there).  You’re moving onto a lot of big boy things too, though:  Calvin and Hobbes comics, Encyclopedia Brown books, and riding a two-wheeler.

The bike thing is pretty major.  You’ve been tooling around on your training wheels for a while, but your dad decided it was time for you to learn to ride without them.  I wasn’t sure how you’d do, since you tend to be apprehensive and risk-averse.  I was afraid you’d take one spill and refuse to try again.  You proved me wrong.  With your dad and Tobin cheering you on, I saw you coast confidently down the path.  You can even start and stop with no help now too.  That’s pretty awesome, Miles, and it makes me look forward to the day when we can rent bikes together on vacation and zip around some exotic locale.

Photo by Denny

You still do things that baffle me, though.  Yesterday you cried at Target because the Nintendo Wii-U demo setup didn’t have the game you wanted (which, by the way, we have at home).  You had a weird mini-freakout when there was no more corn when we had dinner at some friends’ house last weekend, and you refused to share your dad’s ear.  You do great in your swimming lessons, dunking your head underwater no problem and doing some good swim strokes, but you freak out at the idea of taking a shower.  Everything in your seems heightened.  I’m not sure the best way to help you with that, because your life is doing to be a series of difficult moments if you don’t get your responses under control.  Maybe that will sort itself out as you get older.

You’re always coming up with good ideas or trying out projects you hear about elsewhere.  You’ve done backward writing (a la Leonardo da Vinci), fiber arts (you took a class and made a tote bag and a tie-dyed shirt), and you’re getting really good at playing the Super Mario Brothers theme on the piano.  You’ve played it so much even Callum recognizes it.  After your piano lesson today, you were lingering at the piano while your teacher came out to talk to me about your progress.  You played the tell-tale first bars of the theme—da da da duh da DUM, DUM!—and Tara looked down at Callum and said, “I swear he just perked up when he heard that.”

You are still pretty much the best big brother in the world (at least to Callum).  You can make him laugh whenever you want with your silly faces and noises, and you’re always right there to help when I ask you to.  I admit I haven’t been at my best lately.  All this week, nobody has had any summer activities, so I’ve been home full-time with all three of you.  Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, and sometimes I’m not as patient as I should be.  But I can always count on you to keep Callum safe and happy if I need to, say, go to the bathroom.

Photo by Gary Clarke

We’re gearing up for the big summer vacation:  a road trip to Nashville.  I’m dreading the road part of the trip, but once we get there, we’re going to have a great time.  You can’t wait to see your little cousin Aleks, and I know you’re going to be just as great a big cousin to him as you are a big brother.  You’re so excited to help him walk.  I hope you can keep up with him.  From what I’ve seen, he’s a high-energy little fellow.  We’ll get to see Mubby and Skittergramps, too, which is always fun.  I hope you get to do a lot of swimming in the pool, jumping on the bed, and reading in a quiet corner.

I’ll still cuddle you if you need it, sweetheart.  I’ll try to remember that even when your tears make no sense to me, they’re serious to you.  And if you want to ride your bike, I’ll cheer you on louder than anyone and make sure your helmet is on tight.

Love,

Mommy