Dear Davis,

Life is so entertaining with you around. You’re so extreme in everything you do. From the way you manipulate woo all the teachers, to the dramatic way you ask us in hysterics to 'check your britches' after sitting on a whoopie cushion, to the intensity you show when throwing a temper tantrum. Most say that you get your attitude from me, but holy! moly! if that is the case, I should abort this letter and write an apology to your Mimi and GrandDad instead.
You go through fashions phases like no one’s business. First, you insisted on wearing the hat that matched nothing EVERYWHERE you went. Then came the months you were adamant on wearing your jammies under EVERYTHING.

Oh, we only thought those phases were bad.

It got worse. You now insist on wearing undies On. Your. Head.
Because, in your mind, undies, when worn on the head is the equivalent of a chef hat. You fashion your “hat”, then proudly announce you’re a “cooker man”. This game of pretend can last up to thirty minutes. You with your Buzz Lightyear skivvy’s on your head, “cooking” us everything from pancakes to pigs in a blanket. Although you will probably be furious at me one day when this picture flashes up on your wedding slide show, I want you to know that it really was quite entertaining for the whole family.

You seem to thrive when others are in trouble. Not that you don’t get in your fair share of trouble.

You do.

In fact, I sign an accident report almost every other day. But when others are in trouble, be it your brother, or your friend at school, you turn into an absolute Angel. Which of course infuriates the perpetrator even more.

Which of course, makes you act even sweeter, because you realize the buttons you are pushing are effective.

Like, last week when Hayden was carrying on and refusing to eat his burrito because it was too spicy. You turned to us, put on a sly smile and said, “Dad, Thanks for Cooking!”

“I like this burrito. It yummy for my tummy!”

“It’s tastes good” you said as your eyes darted to Hayden to evaluate the reaction.

And when those three comments coupled with your slurpy sweet voice didn’t garner the reaction you were looking for from your older sibling, you took it to the next level.

“I LOVE SPICY food Dad. Will you set my burrito on fire?”

And that was the phrase that successfully sent Hayden over the edge into hysterics.
But don’t get me wrong, you adore him! You copy everything he does. You long for every toy that touches his hands. You’re just looking for his attention, regardless of whether it is positive or negative. Which means you often get in trouble when he sets you up.

You see, one of the things that Hayden has and you don't, is the benefit of having a younger brother to take the blame. He often has you do things that he wants to do, but knows the consequences are too severe. He’ll slide a salt shaker across the table and motion for you to shake it. And of course, you’re usually willing to face the punishment, knowing it’s your chance to impress your big brother.

You have never shied away from trying new things. In your mind, the more condiments, the better. And you don’t stick to the conventional condiment rules either. Say we’re eating hot dogs, but we are out of ketchup. No problem, pass the syrup!

But even though you *think* you are just as old and just as big as Hayden, you still insist on being carried wherever we go. Usually in the morning as we walk into school, you will beg and plead for me to please! pick you up. I will refuse and you will scurry in front of me walking backwards as you attempt to block me. This inevitably leads to one of the two of us falling onto the ground.

Yesterday, it was you.

And to the average bystander it probably looked like I shoved you down. So then of course, I leaned down to apologize, kissed your forehead and picked you up.

You won.

But here is your heads up. I will absolutely refuse to carry you into junior high. Even if one of us gets hurt walking inside.

Davis McDavis, I love your smile. I love your attitude. I love you, and the way you cook my imaginary Belgain Waffles.

Love,
Mom