Marcus is EIGHT!
Happy birthday little boy. I mean big boy. Eight years. I wish I could keep you forever, but the point of life is to grow...in both wisdom and stature. You have done both. This year saw your first basketball goal, your first fight with crazy aunt Mary, your first book- read completely on your own, your first mission project, your first swimming lesson graduation, and oh so may more firsts. My favorite first was you responding to my "I love you." For so many years I have told you that I love you. I love you around the world and back, I love you when you scream in anger, and when you pout for three hours because you have to write a spelling sentence. I love you when you tell me that you are a frutitarian and won't eat veggies or meat. For eight years I have told you that I have loved you. And for eight years you have responded with "I know." or "okay." I have always known you love me. But like every mama in the world I longed to hear it. I cursed the condition that made you write such beautiful poetry, understand such things that most seven year olds gasp in confusion at. That same condition that made you stiffen with every hug and to never respond to my loving whispers.
But this year was a milestone. I held up my fingers, in the sign for "I love you." and you responded. Your fingers formed an i, l, and y, sign language for I love you. And my heart sang for joy. No other moment this year was quite as good as that one. I love you too, my Marcus. More than you will ever know. Happy Birthday.