Dear Simon,

Today you are FIVE.

Five has always seemed to me to be the age at which a kid is really a kid – no longer dependent on care givers for personal maintenance, decision making, boo boo kissing, or constant supervision. I’m glad these are not hard set requirements of being five because I’m not altogether ready to let go of Simon, the baby. As it turns out, you’re not ready to let go either - you really like being coddled and cuddled - so together we're going to navigate this brave new age of five - pretending for a while longer that you actually need my help.



This was a pretty huge year in terms of personal accomplishments. You started the year off by taking a soccer class – your first introduction to the sport. You were the youngest and every other kid had clearly been eating, breathing, and watching nothing but soccer since birth. The coach terrified you so you just wouldn’t participate. And then he had a family emergency and the new coach was much more your style. You enjoyed yourself after that but, when it was over, you decided that soccer really isn’t for you. In your words, it involves “too much running back and forth.”

You started to become more afraid of things this year and it comes on so suddenly that it is sometimes hard to know when you’re kidding. When we went to Cape Cod, you claimed to be afraid of the hermit crabs at low tide and there was some stress about watching the fireworks display on the Fourth of July. It has become clear that your chief fear is noise. Once the noise starts, you’re usually fine but the anticipation that something will be too loud is a big concern. We had to take you to your pre-kindergarten checkup TWICE because the first time you absolutely refused the hearing test. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t convince you that the headphones were going to play a quiet beep. The second appointment wasn’t much easier. Luckily, the medical staff was very accommodating and finally allowed you to control the sound machine which solved the problem. You wouldn't agree to a birthday party this year unless we agreed that there would be "NO SINGING AND NO CLAPPING" after you blew out the candles. Your party theme was "space" so we all pretended we were in space where it is silent - we also kept the party small so there would be less screaming.

Two weeks before you started your new preschool class, you were finally (mostly) potty trained. We waited for you to be ready for four years as your doctor and most other experts suggested but, by the end of Summer, we were SO done with diapers. You were the size of a five-year-old. Diapers no longer fit so things didn’t stay in the way they should. I put together “Potty Scotty Day” where we trained the doll and then we talked about what to do and practiced how to do it from where ever you were and then we put you in underwear, dropped you off at school and hoped for the best. Potty training you has been the longest and most frustrating journey of parenthood so far. And I think I can speak for your Dad as well as myself when I say that, almost a year later, we still get a thrill when we hear the thud, thud, thud of your feet running down the hallway followed by the sound of the bathroom door closing behind you. I fully expect that the joy of this accomplishment is going to take years to wear off.

Your reward for being potty trained was a road trip to Southern California including a day at Disneyland, a day at Disney’s California Adventure, and a day at Lego Land. You were absolutely at your best from the moment we left the house until a few hours before we returned. Watching you enjoy the rides (those without scary dark tunnels) and the shows (those without scary fire) was an incredible experience. Even more than the theme parks, you were delighted to be in the hotel rooms and to spend the night next to Daddy with me and Adlai nearby. You burst into tears as we drove up to our house, crying “I want to go back to the hotel!” Even though you are an excellent sleeper these days – always staying in your own room and even sleeping in – you remain a firm believer in co-sleeping. And the sad truth is, we wouldn’t mind co-sleeping one bit if you could stay still and quiet and fall sleep when we brought you into our bed. You're looking forward to the day when Adlai is old enough to sleep in your room - we'll just have to find a way for the two of you to be far enough apart that you don't attack him with your elbows, knees, or give him a full body blow while you "peacefully" slumber.

Fall and Winter of your fifth year was filled with preschool in the mornings, twice weekly play dates with Tessa and Lisa in the afternoons, and lots and lots of celebrations. We had a Halloween party including the traditional games of touching the “monster bits” and grossing out over the slimy grape eyeballs and cold noodle brains. We celebrated the return of the Feefadders by decorating their home in spirals you cut out of construction paper (to practice your use of scissors). We celebrated Thanksgiving and, for the first time, you ate the traditional foods. We celebrated post-Thanksgiving (two additional gatherings with friends) soon followed by Hanukkah and Adlai’s first birthday, and Christmas then New Years and Valentine’s Day. For each celebration we made decorations during your special “craft time” - the half hour after Adlai passes out for the night.

We instituted craft time after meeting with your teachers and discovering that you, my dear, are a perfectionist. Before we started craft time, you were afraid of making a mistake in your artwork so you decided that, instead of failing, you just wouldn't try at all. Your teachers were not pleased with this attitude but within a week of giving you personal attention over nightly crafts, they couldn’t say enough about your transformation. You write your own name, you draw representational objects, and you cut like a pro.

Although you really enjoy being crafty, your favorite subject is science. You love hearing about space and how things grow and change and die and start again. You want to be a doctor and a scientist and a rabbi and an artist and a teacher and an architect and a meteorologist. You are fascinated by tornadoes and earthquakes and completely disappointed that they don’t happen near you on a daily basis. You still love water and I’ve actually seen you swim on your own - in a pinch. You like to build things – especially couch cushion towers and forts. You love to have books read to you. You know all your letters and their sounds and have become interested in reading and writing on your own.

In February of this year, we had a frightening incident that I imagine you will always remember. Your mind checked out with your eyes wide open in school for long enough that the teachers realized something was very wrong. We took you to the hospital and you had a CT scan on your head in the “donut machine” and an hour-long brain wave scan. It turned out to be nothing – possibly a precursor to the flu you came down with two days later. Daddy and I pretended that it wasn’t a big deal because we didn’t want you to be scared but OH MAN were we scared. The idea that something could have been wrong with your brain and could have required immediate attention has left an everlasting mark upon us. Nothing bad must happen to you EVER. It just isn’t allowed.



Even though your brother is now old enough to steal your toys, topple your towers, and finds it funny to bonk you on the head, you remain a very devoted older sibling. You are remarkably understanding and patient and, most of the time, you include him in your play. The two of you really like to chase after each other, make farting noises, and bonk yourselves on the head and say “OW!” You know how to make him laugh so well that driving with the two of you for any period of time is never a problem. Of course, it is a problem for Daddy who is required to listen to your music over and over while the two of you sing and laugh and make fart noises and squeal with delight. Poor Daddy, required to suffer through such loud exclamations of joy coming from the back seat. (I somehow suspect that he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he claims.)

You have made some new close friends at school this year. You and Sawyer are inseparable partners, pretending you are birds and building nests and going on treasure hunts, and you’ve become close to the three Aidens and Beckham. You have a fiancé named Riley but you’ve told her that you won’t marry her until she converts to Judaism so that you can be married by a Rabbi. (Your words and ideas, not ours.) Since visiting your Kagle Cousins, you have become absolutely obsessed by Pokémon. No word yet if your fiancé likes Pikachu – that might be another sticking point in your relationship -that and separation by Kindergarten.

Age four has been my very favorite age so far (especially after the terrifying threes and the terrible twos). You’re such a good kid. You’re funny and talkative and conscientious. Most of the time you listen and you try really hard to make us happy. When you misbehave you often get upset at yourself before we even say a thing. Your real talent still lies in your social skills. It is impressive to watch you have adult-level conversations with our friends – impressing them with all of your biggest words and concepts – and switch to child-friendly conversation as soon as one of your friends enters the room. You stand up for your friends when they need it (even if they are being scolded by an adult) and you make up your own mind instead of following behavior you know will get you into trouble. Unfortunately, you've also become much more shy and cautious this year and you've lost a lot of confidence in yourself. I suppose that was inevitable but it still makes me sad.

What I have enjoyed most about you this past year is that I really, totally “get” you. I can anticipate your choices and how you will feel about something with incredible accuracy. I know when something is going to hurt you and what will bring the biggest smile to your face. I know when you’re pushing yourself out of your comfort zone and when you’re holding yourself back – unready to make the next step. I understand why certain foods won’t go in your mouth and why you won’t wear shirts with designs or words. (I don’t know why you’re the only kid who won’t wear goggles in swim school but I enjoy that you hold firm against peer pressure.)



One of the activities that most occupies your time these days is what you call "dreaming." To the untrained eye it might look like you are a nut - running back and forth and jumping and turning and swinging for hours on end - but, from your expressions, it is clear that, in your mind, a lot more is going on. You're catching Pokemon. You're forging rivers. You're jumping off cliffs and flying through the sky. I remember actively "dreaming" myself and I'm glad that you've found a place, in your imagination, where anything is possible.

Dear, five-year-old Simon, I'm finishing off this letter on a cool June day while watching you swing back and forth on the blue disc in the dappled shade of the big tree in the backyard. You smile. You've thought of something funny. You lean back the wind whips at your hair. You stop to consider something for a moment before pushing off - back toward the sky. You'll come over and talk with me soon - you'll ask a question or have come to an interesting conclusion before returning to your swing. We'll do this for hours.



Now you've come over to sit on my lap and listen to me read this letter and tell you again that I love you.

Happy Birthday.

Mama (and Daddy and Adlai too)