Six and a Half

Dear Abe,

I thought this felt like the right time to jump back in with some of your life updates. I am obviously not doing them as often, but I feel like you have grown so much mentally and physically in the last six months that it warranted some documentation. Because Lord knows I will forget this stuff in a few months.

There have been many times since you have started Kindergarten that I have thought to myself, "Oh my God, do all kids' brains explode in Kindergarten? Why haven't people told me of this brain explosion? How many years left do I have until my kid is smarter than me?!" (There are other things I have thought to myself too since you have started Kindergarten, those are just the Abe-applicable highlights.)

And, of course, you have seemed to change a lot physically, with the addition of your super awesome, totally cool glasses. I have to say, they just really seem to enhance your personality.  Your a little part moody artist, a little part smarty pants, a little part class clown, a little part bossy mcbosserton, a little part brooding guitarist, and a little part Batman. So, you know, the glasses really suit you. All you need are some tight jeans and a guitar and you will be booked on SNL to host and perform.

I always knew you were smart (I mean you are MY kid, and one of the greatest kids to ever live, DUH) and I never really worried about you keeping up with things in Kindergarten. You are very skilled at following rules and listening to teachers. But, I didn't know you learned how to read. I mean, I know that is the main objective of Kindergarten, but you sort of keep your skills on the down low. And, DUDE, when you read the first ten pages of "The Cat in the Hat" to me and your Dad (and Sam) it freaking BLEW. MY. MIND. You knew the word something. It was one of my the top five moments as a parent for me.

Not to say that I ever doubted you would one day learn to read -- but to actually hear my kid read to me was just something I can barely put into words. I also think it is pretty funny that you were so humble about it and didn't think it was a big deal. That is sort of how you are. You can read, but yet if someone asked you if you can read (like, me. Who asked you all the time) you would say, "No. I can't read." Because I think in your mind, reading means reading three, 679-page novels a day, and then writing 10-page term papers after. You are just very hard on yourself, with such high expectations. I kept thinking if I were you, I would be running around your class saying, "I can read Beeeetches!" Okay, maybe  I wouldn't do that at your age, but that is what I want to do at work today. "My kid can read BEEETCHES!"

(I didn't do that. Don't worry. Okay, maybe I told one person.)

 The other day I went into your room to wake you up, like normal, for school. I went into your closet, pulled out your uniform and laid them on your bed, like normal. I walked over to Sam's bed and pulled off his blanket to reveal his totally nude body (not like normal. I guess he said his clothes were wet, so he took them off. But that is not the story I want to tell. I digress). As soon as you woke up and popped out of bed, you started to pull your blanket up, and fluff your pillow to make your bed.

!!!!!!!!!!!????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!????????????????????

"Abe," I said calmly. "What are you doing?"
"I'm making my bed," you said, without a hint of sarcasm.
"Abe," I said calmly. "Where did you learn that? Because in the Drlich house, we don't make our bed in the morning. I have no idea where he learned to do such a thing. It is certainly not something I had taught him.

He shrugs his shoulder. "I saw it in a movie once."

Well, thank God for movies with conscientious children. It was probably a Disney movie.

You and Sammy Beans continue to forge a brotherly relationship -- which basically means creating moments of best friendom whilst creating moments of wrestling. But, mostly, it's creating a good strong relationship that (dare I say) is becoming a very strong friendship. Even though you probably would never admit that Sam is your best friend.

One morning as I was in the kitchen cooking breakfast, you two were in the playroom together. Doing who knows what -- legos, Batman, whatever it is you two do. Out of nowhere Sam looked at you and said, "Abe, do you love me?" You kept staring down at your toys and without missing a beat said, "Yeah." Sam paused, and then said, "I love you too, Abe."

And just like that, my heart exploded into a billion little pieces. It was just a fleeting moment, one that I wasn't a part of, but I was so lucky to hear it.

You are a spectacular person, and I give you all the credit for it. I sometimes think of myself as an observer on the outside watching all of these great moments in your life, and so proud that I know you.

I love you so much and will even when you are smarter than me which is probably about in two months.

Love,
Mama