Dear Davis,

You’re seven now.

That means if you would have accidentally swallowed a piece of gum on the day you were born, it would just now be out of your system. But that’s a moot point because you were a good baby and didn’t roam the house  looking for teeny tiny things to put in your mouth to scare your mom.

I wish I could say the same for your littlest brother Nathan.

But I digress.

Actually, you are almost seven and one quarter now  because I’m a total slacker and can’t seem to gather up all the crazy stories from the last year that are floating around in my head and summarize them into a nice little letter. Plus as soon as I hit publish, I will be forced to write two more letters since two of your brothers have also had birthdays and otherwise someone might accuse me of having a new favorite.

As you know, seven is a big number. One that carries a lot of new responsibilities including spelling tests, showering in your own shower, being entrusted as the ring bearer at Kellie’s wedding , riding the bus, and teaching your teammates how to blow bubbles.

There are seven whole years of wisdom in that cute little head of yours. And at times all that wisdom gets you in trouble when you spout off some feisty rebuttal to your Dad and me. The other day in my MOPS class when one of the mentor moms gave a tip about making her kids drink “Sassy Sauce” (a swig of Apple Cider Vinegar) when they talked back, you were the first person to pop into my head.

You are the first to get mouthy and turn simple directions into a debate.

But because you are just seven, you are just not that good at arguing yet.  Your Dad and I like to call your method of debate the Make-My-Points-For-Me-Method.

Take the other day for example when we asked you to stop playing, put on your cleats and get ready for Baseball practice. You moaned and groaned and huffed and puffed and told me that you NEVER! EVER! get to play “fun things”.

I calmly reminded you of the fact that you actually had been playing “fun things” for the last two and a half hours and you only go to practice twice a week.

I’m only guessing that that truth caught you off guard and put you on the defense leaving you no choice but to pull out the Make-My -Points-For-Me technique that you’re forced to use when you are backed in a corner.

“Oh really?” You said with a serious tone, then paused for effect.

“Oh really?” You repeated with even more emphasis.

“Then NAME three FUN THINGS I wanted to do but didn’t get to” You said with your eyebrows raised, again pausing for effect.

Then you changed your mind and decided raise the ante, “Actually NAME FIVE!”

I won’t tell you how the story ended, other than to tell you that you made practice that day and I officially put it on the grocery list to buy Apple Cider Vinegar.

One day you will learn that you just so happened to be born to The World’s Best Arguer, and you have a very slim shot of pulling out a victory against me. Not now. Not when you are a teenager. Not ever.

But I guess you will learn that soon enough.

Ironically though, you are also the first to quote Thumper from Bambi, “if you don’t have anything nice to say…” except that I am fairly certain you have no idea who Thumper is, or the rest of that sentence. You just know it works if you raise your eyebrows and say it with the right tone.

On the other hand, you have definitely raised the bar for our expectations of a seven year old. There are many things we expect you to do at seven that we would have never dreamed of asking from Hayden. Like riding the bus or checking the mail before you come inside.

We often talk about the “evens” and the “odds” in the house. You and I are both “evens” since we were both born second (#2) and I think that might be one of the reasons we have a special connection.  You love me almost as much as your Dad does.  Just this morning you woke me up by kissing me on the cheek and telling me that I am the most beautiful mom in the whole wide world. That right there is what I call an offset to your whiney-ness factor.  Sometimes you even bring me coffee and then hang around and ask for a “sip” of it, which usually amounts to about a third of my coffee.

That’s just one example, but Dad is doing a great job training you and your brothers to be awesome husbands one day.

You and Hayden also have a great relationship. I didn’t realize how close you two were until Hayden went on a weekend trip with GrandDad the other day and you moped around all weekend long. “Everything fun needs two people” you whined, and then you listed out all the “fun” games you and Hayden had played over the last five years. Games you hadn’t played in years. Boy and dog. Chess.  Calvin and Hobbes. Ice Skating (a sliding dance the two of you made up on the wood floor). It didn’t matter that you hadn’t played some of those games with Hayden in years. If he was there in that moment – you would totally be playing all of them. You were so lonely and missing Hayden that you started crying at one point. Never mind the two other brothers at your feet. You wanted HAYDEN. It was at that moment that I realized you guys had never been apart from each other for longer than one day.

Your bond is strong, but that doesn’t mean your personalities are the same. For example, during your birthday week we went to The Cheesecake Factory to celebrate you and Hayden’s birthday as a family. It was crowded and the people were buzzing about everywhere so Jeff and I decided that we wouldn’t do the whole thing where the waiters come out and sing Happy Birthday. Because who really likes that anyway?

I’ll tell you who.

You do.

You thrive in the spotlight.

About three quarters through dinner you reminded us that we needed to tell the waiter it was your birthday so they would tell everyone in the restaurant. We asked Hayden if he wanted people to sing to him as well and he declined until he realized that a free chocolate cake was included in the offer.

You still love to talk and tell stories and I know that day will come way too soon when your dad and I will miss having to “raise our hand” if we are ready to hear another fishing story. You and GrandDad went fishing for a couple of hours over the Christmas break – and no lie - we have heard about 10 hours worth of stories. But that’s only after shhhhuuushing the room to a complete silence so that you can have the stage to tell your story. You made your own fishing pole out of bamboo and you caught five fish and GrandDad caught zero fish.

That’s always an integral part of the story.

And it’s hilarious to stop you mid story and say – “Wow! I can’t believe YA’LL caught five fish! That’s impressive!” (with emphasis on YA’LL)

“No, ‘WE’ did not catch five fish” You’ll correct us. “I caught five fish. GrandDad caught ZERO!”

I find it hysterical, so I guess we’ll save the lesson on humility for another day.

You are one of a kind Davis and I love you!

I love how God made you sensitive even though your sensitivity comes with pros and cons.

I love that you tell everyone you have a girlfriend (Ella), but you are also the first to admit how you chase girls at recess for fun.

I love that you text and facetime family and friends even though you tell everyone that I’m sleeping if I happen be in a different room. Because that is what you think I do all day while you are at school; sleep.

Davis, I tell you this every year, but I want to make sure you know that our family is truly blessed to have you in it.  And life would be incomplete without you.  You are an all-around amazing little boy that is growing into an amazing young man.  I love everything about you and can’t wait to find out what God has in store for you this year.

Love,

Mom