For Spencer

I think it's worth breaking the radio silence of our family record to write about how you turned five two weeks ago.

We're birthday buddies, you and me.  

And kindergarten buddies to boot!

(You're teacher is trying to help you break the habit of hollering "Hi Mom!"  when you pass my classroom on your way to recess.  But it is the secret highlight of my everyday =) 

Most of my agony over you starting school - full day, at age four, contrary to practically all of my preconceived preferences - played out mostly in the summer, as I anticipated the abrupt life change you hardly knew was coming.   I shed buckets of preemptive tears.  

But you're such a trooper.  

I knew you would be.

I knew you could do this. 

I remember a moment months ago at the park when you watched Lucy perform some feat of acrobatics on the monkey bars and you started to attempt the move yourself.  

"Spencer!"  I called.  "I'm not sure you're quite tall enough for that!"  

"But I'm brave enough!"  You responded hopefully.  

And you are.

And I try to remember that.  

What I remember really well is the day Lucy started first grade.  You and I came home to our barely lived in house and blew bubbles on the front lawn for hours.

 Ready,

Set,

Go!!

I remember our year of preschool together.  You do too.  You asked me last week, "Mom, when will we start Busy Bees school?"  And I cried a little.  

Remember how you used to call Mondays and Fridays (our no-school days), "Mom and Spud Day"??

I'm so grateful we had those "Mom and Spud" days. Even if they were too few and even if I didn't capitalize on them the way I should have.  

I've worried that with our new(l o n g) school schedule, there won't be enough "Mom and Spud" moments.  But the other evening left me hopeful.  

We'd read scriptures together with Lucy before bed.  The bare minimum.  Three verses.  But we had a nice two minute conversation about "the ^bplan of ^credemption, which was prepared ^dfrom the foundation of the world, through Christ, for all whosoever would believe on his name." (Alma 22:13)

When I came to tuck you into bed a few minutes later, you were thoughtful.  "Mom, why did Jesus die for us?" 

We didn't talk long.  But we talked sincerely and freely and toward the end of our conversation you asked eagerly, "Can we say a prayer right now?"

So I knelt down beside you and you prayed, "Heavenly Father, can you please tell Dad all the things we talked about tonight?"

You question reminded me a little of the day your turned three.  I remember that we sat by the computer and listened to the the little audio recording Dad made for you several months before he died.  You were so excited to hear his voice.   Your own words bubbled back in response. But you were frustrated that the recording didn't pause to give time for everything you wanted to say. "Dad, stop talking!" you said. You wanted him to listen. You thought it was a phone conversation. I tried my best to explain. You tried your best to understand, and have since asked excitedly, pointing to the computer, "Can we listen to Dad's voice in there?" But it was a p a i n f u l moment for me and that night I cried and cried in the kitchen, long after you were asleep. My heart ached for you.  My little boy.  Growing up without his dad.  But as I sat there at the kitchen counter, praying...protesting... a few phrases from a song streamed, spontaneously, through my mind - your dad's favorite song from The Secret Garden.  

I can still hear him singing along, "Ye fool dragon, be gone! Or be slain" 

The song tells the story of very different father/son circumstances and I'd never connected it with you and your dad.  But I do now. 

...you know that as soon as I can I'll return

So be brave, Son, and know that I long

To race you to the top of the morning

Come sit on my shoulders and ride

Run and hide I'll come and find you

Climb hills to remind you

I love you,

My boy at my side

We love you, Spud.  Dad and I, both.  Happy Birthday, Baby Boy.