Warren at 6

Dear Warren,
This has been a big year for you. Since your last birthday in Paris, you started and completed a year of kindergarten. You learned to write--cursive and print--and to read. You can read scriptures out loud in the morning with us. You discovered video games and you treasure your 20 minutes a day. You started playing the piano and now you like to play around on the piano, trying out little motives you come up with, over and over again. You lost your first tooth. So many milestones for one year.

You have always been a great talker, even when you were very little, you spoke very well. You still do now. Whenever our home teacher comes, you run off to prepare your own lesson: usually a simile between a toy and a person's life with/without Jesus. A month ago, you spoke in primary and you came up with a great idea to explain Jesus' role in our ability to return to Heavenly Father. You got out your Geotrax train, two hill pieces and a bridge. Then you placed the hill pieces side by side with a gap in the middle. You explained that one piece represented heaven and the other earth, and that without Jesus--the bridge--there is no way we--the train--can get from one to the other. Then you placed the bridge in and started up your remote control and drove the train up the hill, across the bridge and down. You even included a stopper at the the end so the train wouldn't fall off the table. Sometimes things like this make me forget how very little 6 is. This year my gift to you is to remember that more often.

At 6, you still believe in "Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and Jesus"--a direct quote. At 6 you can still spend hours hunting for roly-poly bugs in the backyard and building "habitats" for them out of my tupperware. [You have an entire system for keeping them alive, and have been known to shed more than a few tears when you find them dead a few days or weeks later.] At 6 you still don't really understand the function of socks. At 6, you think we can ask the computer any question and it will answer it. At 6, you are discovering spelling and randomly spell out words in the sentences you say. As recently as 8 months ago, you were packing canned foods in a plastic bag for you and Papo to eat on your rocket trip to the moon in the box-rocket you were building in the backyard. We had explained to you your lack of an oven, so canned foods were your answer. You always included canned pineapple. At 6 you still love to cuddle up next to me for "loving time" and read, or just snuggle. You still think it is so special when I lay next to you in bed, often falling asleep with you. You still love secrets before you drift off to sleep and goodbye kisses in the morning, or anytime someone leaves.

You love to build, as evidenced by your growing collection of building apparatus: train tracks, Mega Blocks, Tinker Toys, Kapla blocks, Sammy blocks and now, Legos. Last week you built a "fairy land" and when I asked you to put aways the wooden magic wand lying nearby on the floor, you protested, "Mom--but the magic wand is what makes fairy land real!" You like spaghetti and don't really appreciate my cooking adventures. Too bad. You love to spend your allowance on gifts for others in addition to the little things you buy yourself. You truly have a generous heart. You love to make plans and come up with solutions to the little problems of each day. Your sisters are your best friends--though you would only admit that about Avery.
You are teaching me about slowing down, not rushing. I am a slow learner, but I truly appreciate the path you have paved for your younger siblings. I know I often expect too much, and I'm sorry for that. Thank you for always forgiving me easily and quickly and sincerely. Your smile warms my heart and lights up our home, and your love inspires me to love better.

Love,
Mom
{The objects on your shelf: an Eiffel Tower you and dad built and you painted, your "Yellow Indians" piano book, a Rubix cube, a Hotwheels car, a tighing envelope, a burp cloth with your name, the signs on your hospital bassinet at birth, a picture of a pig you drew, a counting book you used to love, a pinwheel from your primary class, a statue of a mom and her son, a picture of you in Paris in the rain, an ultrasound picture and your blessing outfit}