Dear Finnegan,
If you were to go through the archives of this blog, you'd probably notice that last year's birthday letter to you is missing. I know you just learned to read, but I am counting on you finding this when you're 25 and being retroactively pissed. Because life is NOT FAIR.
It's really too bad that life works that way, because you, Small Boy, are overly concerned about fairness and justice and how many lollipops Skylar had while you were at school. I swear you have a radar that detects when other people (read: Your Brothers) get something you don't. You are constantly monitoring cookies, toys, rides in the front seat and who got to sit next to Mom last. When things don't go your way you are given to pouting, stomping your feet and storming out of the room (... and into your bedroom, where you can scream loudly and moan like a laboring sea cow, while also rolling around on your bed in a really bereft way). I really think the answer to this problem is for you to develop a crime-fighting alter ego who passes out lollipops to middle children in his spare time. Personally, I'm rooting for Justice Beaver, but you're free to choose your own.
Lately you've decided that you and I need to be together all the time--and when I say together I don't mean just in the same room. Somehow you have gotten it into your brain that "together" means "touching at all times but preferably hugging." This is equal parts sweet, adorable, clingy and overwhelmingly annoying. I invented a new game today called "Keep Your Hands Off Me For Five Consecutive Minutes," but you didn't want to play.
As usual, I digress. What I really came here to tell you was "Happy REALLY BELATED Birthday." You turned five LAST MAY and I am a terrible person for letting it go largely unacknowledged. What can I say? School ended, Daddy started looking for a new job and found one--then we moved. Somehow you got lost in the shuffle, which is, I hear, the special lot of the middle child. If you don't believe me, ask Aunt Jacqui. She is the original Justice Beaver.
So now you're five-and-a-half and you are such a spectacular little person. You're a goofball, a flirt, and an athlete. You still take extra special care of Bean, but you go out of your way to piss Jack off. Lately Jack can't say anything to you without you insisting that you ALREADY KNOW. It's as if you're pretty sure he thinks you're stupid, so you make sure to tell him (often) that you're not. Watching you two together reminds me of ... me, and my little sister.
You continue to love the ladies, and they (unsurprisingly) love you back. You somehow managed to wrangle yourself an invitation to a first-grader's birthday party a couple of weeks ago-- a girl you only know from the bus room, a girl who is not in your class and who did not invite any other kindergarden kids. You get very obviously starry-eyed when you talk about her; and it was when you were talking about her that I realized your secret. The girls love you because you listen to them. You went on and on about how this little girl was getting a new dress and her hair done for her party and how she would not be at school on her birthday because of these preparations. Not only that, but after the party you came home and told your dad how pretty she looked in her new sparkly dress and black tights. Well played, son. Women love a man who pays attention.
Anyway, it's not your birthday, not really. This is just to let you know that I didn't forget you and that I never would (however distracted I may seem). I promise to get your 6th birthday letter out on time this year. Don't tell your brothers, but you're totally my favorite.
Love,
Mom
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