To Johan on the Occasion of your Sixth Birthday

Dear Johan:

Tomorrow you will be 6 years old. When I think back to when you turned 5, it’s astonishing all of the change and growth that happened in the past year. For us as a family, we sold the house where you were born. We moved to a new house in a new neighborhood. You graduated from Montessori school. You started Kindergarten. You are now counting in Spanish and sometimes peppering Spanish words in your talk without realizing. You know the sounds letters make and you’re learning to put them together to form words. I love experiencing the sparks as they go off in your brain as your mind makes new connections.

You love to create things out of Legos and give them futuristic names like X-4195. You help take care of the dog and you help take care of our new home. You are a burgeoning chef and we listen to music while we cook. Sometimes we take a break to dance. Your first best friend moved away to New York. You miss him and you Skype with him but you also have made new friends in our neighborhood and at school. You wear Crocs whenever possible and you still love to play dress up. You lead us in grace at dinner time. You love to snuggle with Andrew while I read aloud to you after dinner. You love to make people laugh and you have a wry and delectable sense of humor. You are brave on the zip line at the park and you can climb to the top of the jungle gym. Andrew is teaching you to play guitar and you got a blister on your thumb from strumming so fervently. I hope that you always strum with purpose and passion.

We travelled a lot this year. At Christmas, you splashed in the waves at Vero Beach and ate fish while smelling the salty air. In the Spring, you wore jammies on the overnight flight to Amsterdam and then walked miles with us to the Anne Frank house. We drank hot chocolate in line and then you had your first lesson on World War II and the evil and the good in people. We celebrated Queen’s Day and you wore an orange crown and we rode a boat through the canals, cheering. We toured the Opera House in Budapest and saw a Hungarian horse show. We went to the thermal baths of Budapest and then ate langos with sour cream. We rode a boat down the Danube and you made friends with a South African boy in Hungary. We spent the last weekend of the summer in Wisconsin on the banks of the St. Croix. You wore a fedora and a turquoise bowtie and scattered flower petals for Sarah before she walked down the aisle. You entertained many east coast intellectuals with your hot dance moves and advanced vocabulary. In the fall, we drove to the North Shore of Lake Superior and collected rocks and leaves and played many hours of ping pong and air hockey. You are an amazing adventurer and one of my greatest joys is exploring the world hand in hand with you.

You are interested in the interplay between religion and science. Andrew’s parents gave you a small cross and you call it a “wishing cross” and you keep it in a box and wish upon it. Sometimes at dinner grace, you say you are “thankful for God” but if I ask you what that means, you won’t tell. We talk about how people believe in different things and nobody’s right or wrong. But then you pointed out that some kids in your class might need to study science because they think Jesus created people but you are sure it’s really science.


You march to your own drum. One day you wanted silver sparkles on your fingernails like superheroes have and so we got you just that. Some kids at school teased you. But you liked the way you look and would not be deterred. You wore your silver sparkles on your nails until they chipped off. I told you how proud I was of you that you know yourself so well and are so confident in yourself. Hang on tight to that, Johan. Never let anyone tell you that you are less because of how you look, what you wear, what you believe, or who you love.

You love pillow talk. We have some of our best conversations when we lay down right before you go to sleep. It’s then that you will tell me about your day in detail- the good, the bad, the funny, and everything in between. You share with me your desires and your fears and worries. We talk through it all as your head nestles into the crook of my arm. Sometimes you tickle my chin and I always kiss your forehead. We still sing together, usually 3 songs a night, and I always end with “You Are my Sunshine.” If I try to jazz up the songs, you tell me to just do it the regular way. You often hum along. One night you said you didn’t need me to snuggle you before bed. And I asked why not. You said that a boy in your class told you that big boys don’t need to be snuggled to sleep. I asked you if you believe that. You said “Well, I want you to snuggle me but he said so.” I told you that every family is different and that it was none of his business what we do and that my mom snuggled me and sang to me until I was like 12. And you said, “ok, then come on and snuggle me.” And I did. And I sang to you. And you hugged me extra close that night.

You discovered Harry Potter this year. You believe in magic. You love magic. You are magic. When you use a chopstick for a magic wand to cast a spell, your eyes glimmer with all the hope and promise in the world. I wish for you to always see the magic in the world around you-- in sunrises and sunsets, in leaves as they blow through the air, in a strong bear hug, in a good belly laugh.

Every day I am proud of the person you are. You are kind and gentle and empathetic and determined and opinionated and confident and affectionate and goofy and serious and smart and so full of wonder. Every day I am glad to be your mom. It’s my favorite thing to be and you are the most extraordinary perfect-for-our-family kid that we could ever imagine. I love you with all of my heart from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I can’t wait for everything that comes next.

Happy Birthday, my sweet Chinook.

Love, Mama

PS. I’ll never tell you if I’m a spy or a Muggle or both.