Happy 10th Birthday

Dear Charlie,

I like to remind you each birthday how we worried the night you were born because it was snowing hard, and we didn’t know how we were going to get Grandma so she could watch Evan because Grandpa was stuck in a snowbank. (in his Bruno Magli shoes!) And when we were finally able to get going, we slipped and slid all the way to the hospital. And then you were ready to meet us, and I was pushing so so hard but you were sunny-side up, you wanted to come into the world face first, looking at it all, instead of looking down at the floor. But gosh darn it hurt, with your hard forehead banging my pelvis.

I cursed a lot. Sorry about that.

But I finally did it and you were out and in my arms. And despite the traumatic birth, you were so perfect looking. Such a beautiful little face. No conehead at all. Daddy and I like to say you’ve always had a hard head. You don’t give in easily, which I secretly love. You fight for what you believe in. I love that you laugh really hard and you also cry really hard. You embrace every moment of life like it was your last. That is an admirable quality, even when it drives me insane. I have learned so much from you. And that personality will get you through many tough times--it is enormous. You live your life out loud, and I know it sounds cliche, but you draw people to you like moths to a flame.

I am honored and humbled to be the person in your life you call Mom. I treasure the rest of your days and can’t wait to meet the man you become.

Happy 10th birthday, Charlie Boo.

I love you.

p.s.

Mrs. Pontrella sang it to you the other day when I brought cupcakes to school, but you know the truth, you are my sunshine.

A Jubilant Countdown

If I was to choose
one moment in time
from these first nine years
then I would tell of how I loved you in Italy
where you clamored for more gelato,
a better seat on the bus,
breakfast of bacon,
one more minute to swim in the Adriatic Sea.
In Pisa,
where you beat your chest à la Johnny Weissmuller
and Buster Crabbes,
there was no mistaking
your intent.
Like a gusty wind pushing through the clothes,
your howl conveyed what you had stubbornly decided—
your opinions were clear.

Here is the truth
your rage makes me love you more.
You are alive with a fire for this world,
a flame I smothered in my own heart
long before you were born.
But on the ancient streets of Rome and Florence
you veraciously taught me
how to ignite it again.

I Love You the Reddest

Charlie,

"... I love you the reddest!
I love you the color of the sky
before it blazes into night.
I love you the color of a leopard's eyes
when it prowls through the jungle,
and the color of a campfire at the edge of the flame.
A wide open hug. The swirl of a magic cape.
The thunder of a shout."

--Barbara Joosse, I Love You the Purplest