You're 8

Dear Calvin,

It took me a few years to get used to your birthday: May 28. I kept referring to you as our June baby. Ask Papa. It's true.

It wasn't my fault, really. You were supposed to arrive mid-June. That was our plan. But you came three week's earlier and that was that. 

Now, even if I didn't have your weeks of enthusiasm and party-scheming to remind me, I'd still have the date firmly planted in my internal calendar. May 28.

You were born on Memorial Day in the quiet non-workday version of an otherwise bustling hospital. You came tiny and squalling and strong. You still are all of those things, but infinitely more cool and gross and hilarious and bright and thoughtful and tender. 

You also have sick dance moves and killer light-saber skills. And you love to party, especially on May 28.

This year you're the proud owner of a shiny pocket knife engraved with your initials -- Papa will teach you how to use it. You are a little more responsible and a lot less little than you were on this day last year. There will be water balloons and marshmallow-toasting with pals.

And when you see me watching you celebrate, and you wonder why I look so sentimental, here's why:

On this day every year until my very last May 28, I will be awash in amazement of you.

Thanks for being so great!

Love, Mama