Dear Hayden,

This month, you’re officially 5 and a half years old. You and your “mega brain” never cease to amaze me, although you know your limits and don’t want to rush life. You often tell us what age you’ll be when you plan to hit certain milestones. Like, according to you, you’ll be 12 before you attempt to ride your bike without training wheels. Oh and when you turn 9, you’ll start eating spicy food.
Last month you started t-ball for the second year, only because you tricked us into signing you up. It was no secret that you didn’t enjoy it last year, which is why we were so surprised when you insisted you “needed to go back to your teammates” this year. It was only after the $130 sign up fee when we realized the end-of-year trophy was the key driver in this decision. This year is no different than last, in the fact that you moan and groan every time we go to practice or a game. Oh son, if only you’d known that we could have gone to AAA Trophy off of Preston Road and just purchased you a trophy.

For eating the most pop-tarts in one sitting.

Or successfully completing a Level IV Transformer on your own.

Or something.

But the point is, every time we mention the word t-ball, you so dramatically throw your shoulders into a shrug and I have to remind you that I’m not some athletically demanding parent that forces you to go to the batting cages 4 times a week. It was you that wanted the trophy didn’t want to let your teammates down. And at the end of the day season, it will all be worth it. But on a more positive side, this year you have turned over a new leaf and seem more willing to try new things. From chocolate covered strawberries to California Rolls. I think it’s official, you’re sophisticated now. In fact, just this week was the first time we have gone as a family to our favorite sushi restaurant without driving through McDonalds first. And you weren’t even bribed. Which, as you know, is progress for the Lyle family.

Your father and I are starting to pick up conversation tactics from you too. You have this interesting way of classifying your stories before you’ll tell them. Sure, there’s the usual, “I have a funny story”, but unlike most, you don’t stop there.

“Here’s a boring story” or “Here’s a awesome story” you’ll announce before divulging the rest of the narrative.

I’ve got to say, it’s a bit contagious, because now if your Dad starts a story without first giving it’s classification, I’m all---uh, wait a minute, is this a Happy, Sad, Awesome, Interesting or Boring story?

Oh, Boring? Sorry. I am swamped right now. Can we talk later?
Another cool habit you’ve started in this family is ending sentences matter-of-factly with the word “besides”. It really leaves the person you are talking to in a state of suspense. And again, your Dad and I now end many of our conversations with it.

“I’m going to need you to pick up the kids tonight because I am going to have to work a little late. Besides!”

Not that you read this yet, but it’s only fair I warn you that you are thisclose to losing your TV privileges in the mornings. Everyday, You and Davis switch off who gets to choose the taped cartoon. This means that everyday someone is mad.

Someone is moping in my room, whining and tattling.

I believe this to be a curse of technology, son. Because back in the old days, before the concept of Tivo was ever invented, there were no fights in the morning. You’re Uncle Matt and I spent one whole school year watching nothing but She-Ra, Princess of Power because that was the only choice on network TV between 7:00 and 7:30 a.m. But now, now that we have 162 stored recordings of Transformers Animated, life is just that much more complicated.
One thing that we’ve been working on with you these last few weeks is not blaming someone else when something doesn’t go your way. It was a couple of weeks ago when you fell off your bike in the driveway. Before we could even run over to assess the damage, you turned around to face us and yelled, “SEE!!! THIS IS WHY WE SHOULDN’T HAVE A DRIVEWAY” in your most stern voice. As you can imagine, this outburst lost you all the sympathy you almost had. Take it from someone that didn’t have a driveway and was forced to learn to ride a bike in the gravel. Having a driveway is a good thing. Trust me.

I love you Hay Bay! You are undeniably one sweet son. Besides.

Love,
Mom