At exactly 5:00 p.m this evening my sweet, funny, lovable, creative, amazing John Paul turned eight. EIGHT! Eight years ago, five days before his birthday, I was on a Catholic retreat for women. Everyone was hoping I wouldn’t go into labor. That made two of us! We made it through the weekend, John Paul arrived and our whole world changed.
He had a fabulous birthday party yesterday. I’ll blog all about it this week.
You are an amazing little boy. While I’m catching glimpses of a young man emerging, you still rush to give me kisses when you see me at school and you fight over sitting in my lap at Mass. You are Luke’s greatest and best therapist. You can recall any football play from any NFL or college game, yet you forget to change your underwear. Love that. You love the Jets. I do not know why. But, I love that you love them. It is so YOU. You are crazy creative. Your artwork is stunning and thoughtful and amazing. I hope you never stop drawing. It gives me a glimpse inside your wonderful brain. Your smile makes me smile. You have a story. About everything. Your favorite saying is, “Mom, can I tell you something?” Never stop sharing your stories. Nobody tells them like you do. You are so excited to make your First Communion this April. I must admit, I cannot wait either. Your enthusiasm has renewed my love of the Eucharist. You hate to read, unless it is about sports or Star Wars. But, at least you read something. You’re better at spelling than you think. You’re better at math than me. No really. You are a great friend. You are a sore loser. I prefer to say that you are passionate. Mostly because I am, too. I love you, so much. It’s been an honor and God’s greatest gift to have you in my life for eight years. Here’s to 88 more!