Seven

Max, flying high on a bald eagle

Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning seven.

Unlike in past years, there hasn't been some massive need to count down. You can monitor that in your own mind now, keeping track of the days and who will be where and when and why.And it just seems inevitable that you should be seven, how have you not already been seven? Perhaps it's first grade, but you've grown up so much this year.

You jumped on in to your birthday party to start 2014, and haven't stopped jumping often since then. You'll remember this as the year of getting injured, so much so that you decided to wish not to get injured in 2015, though even a broken wrist didn't slow you down. This is the year that swimming connected for you, and you were a kindergarten chess champion. You had a starring role as Amos in "A Sick Day for Amos McGee" at camp. You have a BFF who you refer to as such, Ethan, and love to play chip factory with him and Yonatan. You love to make French toast and instructional videos on how to draw, and belt out "Let It Go" with the best of them.

When I ask if you like something, you respond that you don't just like things, you LOVE them. Hugs from you are the best medicine I know, and you carefully guard your position as the best hugger in the family. Your sister doesn't like getting your hugs as much anymore, at least that's what she says, but I know that you two continue to be each other's very best friends (sorry, Ethan!).

Despite you having looked through the full calendar for 2015, I'm going to hold off on predicting too much for you. You keep surprising me, and I like it that way. You're not such a little boy anymore, though I see traces of it when you ask me to brush back the bangs from your forehead and call me "Mama." I'm so proud to be your mom, and can't wait to see what you do next. Happy birthday, buddy.

(You can also see letters for ages three, four,  five and six.)