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Where’s my diary?

It seemed he fought to stay in the womb. After 15.25 hours in that labor and delivery room tucked away in a green corner of the state of Wisconsin our obstinate firstborn entered the world and immediately let it know he’s a fighter. After one glance at his imperfect conehead and his perfect, precious pink face, his dad and I knew he was also way more than that and destined to someday be something great. Eight years with this child have taught us that his stubborn nature knows no bounds (well, it’s probably genetic) and that this child is sweeter than a tall glass of tea from the South.

Tonight this boy was frustrated because he couldn’t locate his diary in his typical boy-mess of a bedroom. I helped him, and then, he gave me the boot and told me he needed privacy to write in it. This boy typically doesn’t willingly wish to write anything so as a lover of the pen I was all for it. I left no sooner than his bedroom door nearly hit my heels and sauntered off to tuck in his younger siblings. About 15-20 minutes later, I casually knocked on his door (something I haven’t really ever done - well, unless banging on it counts). He gave me the greenlight to enter.

The grin on his face is something I will certainly always cherish. He proudly declared that he’d written three pages in his diary but that he couldn’t tell anyone their contents. In my head I thought, “Well, I just might have to come in here later and find that thing when he’s not around…”, but I am pleased to report that won’t need to be the case.

He asked me to read only page number three. I obliged. It was quite cute, a tad smug, and all about his years of playing soccer. He had even given it a title. I didn’t tell you all of this, right? He was rather shy and secretive about the other two pages for about two minutes, and then, he told me to read them as he buried his head in a pillow. I assured him that he could talk to me about anything and that he can trust me before I read on and also told myself to keep a straight face no matter what my eyes were about to see. Please note what I am about to share with you will not break that trust (as I am omitting names).

My boy wrote two pages about A GIRL. The girl he is going to MARRY. She is BEAUTIFUL. She is PERFECT for him. Oh, my heart. My baby. These odes to this young brunette also detailed how said lady has another partner in class but that my son was going to be her partner during Centers in the classroom from now on. That’s right, Suitor #2, my boy is a fighter! And oh, so stinking sweet.

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