Happy birthday, 4-year-old!
You’ve obviously been excited for this day to come and can now enjoy the short, annual window when you are just one year under Eliza in age identification.
We’ve got an exciting red, white and blue birthday ahead (of course, preceding Fourth of July) with some monster truck elements at your request. We started off the morning building a fort and playing “horsey” at the downstairs couch. That horsey game is one where I build small “stables” out of cushions and you and Eliza pretend to be horses while I feed you goldfish. Later in the day, we’ll head to Bella Bella Beach and hopefully with a new yellow kayak just for you, which is one of your birthday presents currently en route to our local Home Depot. We’ve also got cupcakes in all sorts of flavors that we’ll surround with monster trucks decor. We’ll reserve some of the goods for your birthday party with friends in a couple days.
Of course, the big gift this year is the week-long company of Uncle Ty, Aunt Amber and cousins Abby and Mason. Desite the huge age gap, you’re finding all sorts of ways to play and hang out. Your Mom procured a free basketball hoop that has become a main attraction. Uncle Ty and Mom teamed up for a game against Abby and Mason last night, and your Mom was a baller with a game winning shot.
You’re a big four-year-old with a big personality and big potential. You’re using bigger language, saying phrases like, “That’s incredible!” You’re super tall and seem to keep pace with Eliza at her growth spurts. You’ve got confidence to make new friends at any occassion and are a true alpha — willing and wanting to lead any decision at any time with any company. What to eat? You want to decide. What to play next? You want to decide. If anything, your growth is going to be less in confidence and more in compromise. The difference between being an alpha and a leader isn’t making the decision, but bringing people along. My job is to help you be that awesome leader that you are so naturally becoming. Best job ever.
Love always,
Dad