Dear Grady,
Today you are seven.
I’m not quite sure how that happened. One minute I was rocking you to sleep in your nursery and the next minute I was listening to you read Charlotte’s Web to Poppy.
You love to draw. You spend hours drawing every day. You fill page after page with superheroes and knights and Ninja Turtles. One day I was admiring your artwork and I remarked that maybe you would be an artist when you grew up. “I’m already an artist,” you corrected me.
You have a sweet, gentle heart. You care deeply about fairness and being kind. I’m always cringing as you pick up other people’s garbage in the park (“it’s my job to keep the earth tidy!”) and wishing you cared as deeply about the state of your bedroom floor as you do the playground.
Your favourite band is still the Foo Fighters but you’ve branched out to other music too. When “No Roots” by Alice Merton comes on the radio when we’re driving you tell me to turn it up, “it’s our jam!” You’re king of the car dance, and somehow we always end up in a pile of giggles. Your enthusiasm and your belly laugh are infectious. Nothing makes me happier than hearing your laugh, Grady. Nothing in this world.
You’re an amazing big brother to Poppy. You look out for her and worry about her and take pride in teaching her new things. I know as long as you two have each other, you’re going to be okay.
Happy birthday, Grady. I love you bunches.
