Dear Davis,

You are nine now. This past year you have been funnier and more talkative than ever. In fact, I think God winked at me when he gave me you – with a knowing nod that I can never complain about not having someone ALWAYS willing to talk. Even the high school employee at the paintball place the other day looked worn out after a conversation with you in between games. He wearily looked at me and muttered, "Man this kid has A LOT of questions."

Your hobbies are fishing, biking, baking, Legos, and annoying your brothers.

You have adjusted to the new school without a single problem. You make friends everywhere you go and last week you told me how you had made a concerted effort to include the ‘new kid’ at school. I guess it hasn’t occurred to you that you are also the ‘new kid’.

This year you have accomplished many new feats. During the Spring, you played flag football for the first time and even scored a touchdown as the Center. I think you were more surprised than anyone that they threw the ball to you – AND you caught it.

Then over the Summer, you did Acting Camp – and although it was only a week, you LOVE to tell people you are an actor.  You did ROCK those two lines though!

You were the founding member of a new club on the street – called the cricket-club. To be included you had to eat a cricket and so far there are only two members. Now I am constantly telling you that No! You cannot eat another cricket!

You’ve recently decided that bike tricks are your “thing” and so you require all adults on the street to stop what they are doing and watch your latest trick. I’m not going to lie – they are usually pretty impressive and it only gets slightly annoying after the third time.

But the bike trick I was most proud of was when you spent your afternoon teaching the 6 year old next door how to ride a bike. It’s not often you showcase your patience so this was a sweet surprise. And at the end of the day as she road up and down the street totally unassisted, you were just as proud as she was.

For your birthday, Mimi and Granddad went in together with your Dad and I – and against our better judgment – purchased a Lego set for you.

Not just any Lego set though. The biggest Lego set the Lyle family has ever owned.

One with 1,869 pieces.

One thousand. Eight hundred. Sixty Nine Pieces.

Of which your beloved mom ended up putting together approximately one thousand two hundred and sixty nine of those pieces.

It all happened one day after I lost my cool about the explosion of Legos on your bedroom floor. They had been spread out for one too many days – those minuscule Legos were practically begging – calling out to Blake and Nathan like a beacon - to pick them up and destroy them.

And you know how those sets work, right?

You lose one little Lego and the next thing you know – the doors wont attach to the vehicle. And if the doors can’t attach, the mirrors can’t attach to the doors. Without the mirrors – the Blasters can’t be connected. And in an instant, the $200 Tumbler is just a worthless pile of Legos that may as well be a sand castle.

I knew better. This Lego set was for ages 16 and up but I let you convince me how mature you are.

You are a Lego expert, you said!

And it’s true. You can put a Lego set together in a half an hour. But I think somewhere between the five books of instructions and twenty two bags of Lego pieces you got overwhelmed – and only finished half of it before you quit.

Legos had suddenly become something you procrastinated and I nagged you to finish like it was homework.  

So one day I put off sweeping and dishes and laundry and park time and instead I sat in your floor for SIX AND A HALF HOURS and finished YOUR PROJECT. As I put together every last teeny-weeny-little-bitty Lego, I vowed to never buy you a Lego set out of your age range again.

This year, I planned to write a whole paragraph about how hard headed you are (like me) but that thought got trumped when you fell the other day on your scooter and proved how LITERALLY hard headed you are.

(Side note: son, please never use the term ‘literally’ wrong – see me if you are confused).

Long story short, it was my fault because you had an early dismissal for a doctor’s appointment the day before and I forgot your bike and helmet in the school bike rack. The next morning under duress, you were forced to take your scooter (that you have safely ridden many times before) and no helmet (even though we have plenty of extras). You left for school mad at me – and me mad at you.

Ten minutes later one of your friends was banging on the door yelling that you had been in an accident and you were bleeding out of your head.

The term scared doesn’t do it justice. I was terrified! Only to be relieved when I caught up to you (still mad at me) and saw that you were ALIVE but very scraped up. Luckily there were no cars involved – you had flipped over your scooter and fallen on a sidewalk crack - but you met your match in that sidewalk. And I think you just earned yourself your first scar(s).

Think of it as a conversation piece.

But as headstrong as you sometimes are (figuratively and literally) – I still love your innocence. One of the hit songs on the radio right now is All About the Bass. It’s the type of totally inappropriate song that should cause me to flip the station when it comes on – but I never do, because you sing confidently from the backseat – “I’m all about the Best of the Best – No Trouble” as I smile to myself knowing you won’t always be a {semi} sweet nine year old.

You’re funny and smart and caring and sensitive.

But you’re sort of a like a bread and butter pickle. Mildy sweet, with a bit of an edge.

You still love to get a reaction. (I think I have been writing that for nine years now).

And Blake LOVES to give you one. (Screaming and chasing are an after school norm).

This year we have a new punishment in the Parenting 101 Handbook. When you or Hayden misbehaves, you are sent to run a lap around the block. (Don’t call CPS – its 1/3 of a mile).

Jeff and I figure that if we can’t have well-mannered kids, we might as well have athletic kids that are in shape. A track scholarship would surely offset disobedience.

Let’s just say you’ve run your share of laps. But on the bright side, just be thankful I haven’t figured out a way for you to burn calories on my behalf – because you’d be running a lot more if that were the case.

Oh Davis, I have a feeling you are going to be The Hilarious One someday. The bright, funny, handsome guy that wins people over with charm, a bit of sarcasm, and your quick witted jokes. But right now you are learning the hard way all about timing and tone.

Davis, I love you more than words can describe. More than you will know until you get a child of your own one-day. We have so much in common and as much as I want to fast forward time to see what you use all of your talents to become – I also want time to stand still so you can be my little nine year old spunky boy forever.

YOU ARE the Best of the Best!

Love you,

Mom Mom

(the even one)

p.s. I searched and searched for a video of you that would showcase your personality - and I couldn't land on just one. Please don't ever lose your cute factor!