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Dear Tolliver,

I sent you to school this fall, letting go my role as your daily protector, making a bit of peace with time and its robberies. I think I felt the same bittersweet pang of separation as most parents waving from the school door, but comparing age to the alternative left me not quite as maudlin about it as I might've otherwise been. Still, kindergarten has a way of echoing the growth of a child with particular clarity. And you are getting so big.

I have faced your dwindling babyhood, parts of which required small ceremonies conducted in private (and, admittedly, in tears) studying socks that would not cover your big toe, folding now threadbare swaddling blankets that I still tuck around your long body at bedtime, stashing a few favorite but foregone mispronounced words in my memory.  It's like nature's best magic trick, the way you were planted in my arms yesterday and leave giant footprints on the planet today. I did have some idea how quickly your early years would vanish. How grateful I am to have been there for them.

You are the sort of child the older ladies at the checkout counter identify as "all boy."  There's usually dirt under your fingernails and bruises on your shins. And your feet usually stink, which you think is hilarious. For your birthday you asked for dinosaurs and Legos, a football jersey and wrestling shoes, books and a jaw harp. You prefer to choose your own clothes, decidedly something soft and camouflaged. You go from styling your hair in the morning to snuggling with with your favorite stuffed turtle at bedtime. Your mind accommodates a seemingly inexhaustible catalog of insect facts and car models and military trivia and human body basics and Hamilton lyrics. You are interested in writing and addition, in Star Wars and baking, in pranks and Harry Potter. You are a bit of a budding artist, intrigued by VanGogh and skilled at detail with a ballpoint pen. Your spirit shines with curiosity, and it seems as though a spark of fire inhabits every cell of your being. Your list of friends is long and the freckles on your face are my favorite. You love and play and eat with ferocity. You are brave and curious, loud and dramatic, loving and so loved. Tollie, you are often the reason I smile. And sometimes the reason I drink.

I hope you have some idea about what happiness you bring us, how grateful we are to have you in our family. May our years with you continue to unfold like a magician's scarf.

All my love,
Mom