Dear Spotty Chop you are 77 months old

That’s the same number as Ray Bourque…just sayin.


You have a ritual when we brush your teeth. It used to drive me crazy as I saw it only as a delaying tactic. But, once I got over myself I realized how charming it was. You slowly walk over to me yawning, you sit on one leg with your arms around my neck and then you give me a kiss. After that there is teeth brushing and at times a water fight.


You still love to swim naked. I wonder when you will become embarrassed to be seen naked or if I will have to say “put your junk in the trunk my son”.


Papa took you to the aquarium. You LOVED it. Papa got lost and when he saw a policeman he told you to roll down the window. You told the officer that you were lost. The officer said “well, where are you going?” When Papa said “it’s a surprise”, the officer said “well then, let me come around to your side.”


You have really become a daddy/papa’s boy. You seem to be ignoring the womenfolk in your life. I’m ok with that.


You spend a LOT of time drawing elaborate maps/levels of games to play. You are also swimming as much as you can. You have a decent dive, and swim underwater like a dolphin. You also do front flips from the side of the pool. Can’t WAIT until you show Nannie that one…I will NEVER hear the end of it.


You are the tannest you have EVER been. I feel like a parental failure. I blame camp and the fact that you are outdoors all day. Speaking of camp…


You are having a great time at camp. Of course you can’t remember a single thing you do.


Me: what did you do today at camp?


You: I get off the bus, eat lunch, play at the playground, go swimming and then we go home.

You have made friends (but can’t remember their names) and the head youth counselor (your old after school counselor) told me that “Spotty is such a good kid, all of the staff really enjoy having him around”. That made me happy. You are not perfect, and you can truly be a pain in the ass. But you are a great kid, I wouldn’t change a thing about you.

Kisses