Sunday, October 07, 2007
So remember when Mrs. W (Denver's Kindergarten teacher) commented on my writing, like a month ago? Well. . . that's how long ago I started this post. I've been meaning to write Denver's birthday post for weeks now but just haven't gotten to it and I can't possibly put it off another day. So without further ado, an ode Denver!
Dear Bubber,
When you started kindergarten just four short days after you turned five, your teacher asked us parents to write down anything we wanted to about our kids. I thought about it long and hard and sort of struggled, because I think you're such a good kid, there's just not much to say. But Daddy and I thought about it for a really long time and this is what we came up with:
I've thought all weekend about what I'd like you to know about Denver and my very first thought every time is . . . there's not that much to say. I think that's just because some of his other brothers are so . . . demanding. But Denver well, he's just so easy-going, so simple, so well-behaved, and so good. He rarely gets into mischief and we rarely have to get after him for anything. And that leaves me very little to tell you. That said, after talking with my husband, here's what we've come up with.
 We call him "Bubber." That's because his little brother Caleb called him that before he could ever say Denver. But Denver hates that we call him that so we're trying to change our ways and stick to Denver.
He's extremely sweet. Oh how he loves to be snuggled and hugged and doted upon. He's definitely a momma's boy. I think he learned early on that if he wanted time with me, that meant he'd have to help me with whatever it was that I was doing—scrubbing toilets, mopping the floor, cooking dinner, feeding babies. He's a hard worker and he loves to be a helper.
He can be quite loud at times and we often find him shouting at us when our house is actually quiet and there's no need to shout. That probably stems from the fact that our house is usually pretty loud and sometimes that's the only way he feels like he'll be heard. It may also be from his exuberant spirit and his excitement about things. But we often have to remind him there's no need to shout and so may you.
He loves the Polar Express, Imaginext, Lego, Star Wars, cooking (he even does regular cooking shows for us, but don't tell him I told you that) broccoli and chocolate. He hates having his picture taken.
He's the Go Fish champion at our house.
Even though he's already overcome his shyness, he remains bashful at times. Often when he knows the right answer to a question he still won't raise his hand. Sometimes when he thinks he's in trouble, it's very hard to get him to look at us and speak to us. He hates getting in trouble. Sometimes when faced with competition he's content to be third, instead of drawing attention to himself, even though he could easily be first.
He's a perfectionist. I'd like to blame that completely on my husband because he's definitely more of a perfectionist than me, but I must share in the blame as well. We try and try and try to tell him that his best effort is great and that we don't expect more, but he remains steadfast in his perfectionism. Sometimes that leads to temper tantrums.
But I think the one thing that says it all about Denver is the fact that he's the first of my children that I've ever cried over leaving at Kindergarten. Not because he's my favorite, (cause I love all of my children) but because he's such a joy to be around. And there's never been a time that I've thought, "Man I sure could use a break from this kid." He truly is a wonderful little man and we only hope you end up loving him as much as we do-- I'm pretty sure you will.
 I think that pretty much sums you up, Little Man, except for a few things that I always think of when I think of you. I have these memories of you that I so love that I hope I never lose with my old age. The first one is of you several months ago back at the Potato Derby. I was scanning the Cultural Hall amid all the chaos trying to get a head count on all you boys. I'd found everyone but you and was feeling a little nervous. Where had you gone to? And then I found you, sitting at a table with all of the young men. Eight big boys crowded around a table and one little guy sitting in the mix. You were smiling and chatting away with the bunch, as happy as I've ever seen you. Parker Dance was one of those big boys and you've taken a liking to him like no other. Every Sunday after church you ask if you can go sit in Parker's trunk with Parker and every Sunday that's where I find you, just sitting there with your legs dangling out of Parker's car, chatting away with your buddy. You want your hair buzzed like Parker's and I can tell several of your decisions about your appearance and the things you do, are dependant on what you think Parker would do. But there is a cool and a confidence about you that sucks you right into everyone's heart and immediately makes you their favorite.
And then there's the way you treat your little brothers. I know you aren't so happy about their presence here. For months now you've said something about how you wish we never had the twins because then we could have kept our Sienna and then you'd still have your cubby next to your seat. The babies have changed so many things that you once enjoyed, you have every right to hate them and wish they would go away. But you don't. That's the neatest thing. You love them. . . dearly. You cry when I tell you you can't play with them in their cribs. And you beg me to let you get them out of their beds and bring them downstairs. You play with them and read them books and help babysit them when I have to run down to the basement or out to the car. And every day when Caleb and I are eating lunch, he starts wondering when we can go and get you. They love you and miss you when you're gone, just like I do.
 And then there's just the other day when I was cleaning the bathrooms. You quick came and joined in, begging me for something to do. After scrubbing the toilets you still wanted something else to do and I told you you could mop the floors as soon as I finished scrubbing the sink. But you ran off and I forgot and the floors never got mopped. Then, the following morning I was mopping the kitchen floor before school started and the babies woke up. You came wandering into the kitchen half asleep still and tapped on my shoulder the way you do. I turned around and said good morning and asked what's up and you said, "Remember when you said you'd let me mop the bathroom floors? Well you never let me." Oh melt my heart into a million pieces. Could there be a luckier mother on the planet earth? You are one wonderful little person, Bubber Henrichsen, and I'm so glad you're mine. Happy Birthday!
posted by Shana # 9:05 AM 
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