Today is my son’s third birthday. We started our morning with pancakes and raspberries for breakfast, and he got to open a few presents. At school today he’ll wear a birthday hat and pass out goodies bags to his friends. When our son comes home, we’ll celebrate with tacos and cake, then surprise him with his first “big boy” bed.
Although this milestone is certainly bittersweet, the feeling I want to savor most right now is hopefulness. I’m proud of the person Jack is, and I’m excited to nurture him and watch him grow in the year ahead. This year I’m starting a new tradition of writing my son a birthday love note. I’m posting it here to share a snapshot of his life at three, and because I thought you might enjoy it.
Dear Jack,
Today you turn three! This is what Daddy and I love about you:
You are creative. You are an expert play-doh mixer and sculptor. You add depth to bedtime stories, suggesting appearances from Superman or the Paw Patrol. Your make-believe world — of pirate and rocket ships, rescue missions and birthday parties — amazes me.
You are playful. You giggle at Goofy and Olaf the snowman. You cry, “Tickle me! Tickle me!” laughing without abandon. You’ll flop into fresh snow, crunchy leaves or grainy sand, flap your arms and make an angel.
You are strong-willed. You throw tantrums when you don’t get your way. Most days, you refuse to jump in the pool and put on socks. As for mealtime, you stick to a strict rotation of your favorites — like tacos, nuggets and pizza — rather than try new foods.
You are loving. You crave our touch and attention. You call, “Play with me!” when you need a playmate and “Uppy!” when you’re “too tired” to walk. At dinner, you slip out of your chair to finish your veggie burger in my lap. At bedtime, you sit in Daddy’s lap to read stories, head snuggled close against his chest. You give the best kisses.
You are generous. You share your Hershey’s kisses and your strawberry smoothie with ease. You loved handing out goodie bags at your last birthday party. You like to “help” with the dishes.
You are thoughtful. You ask, “Who is Jesus?” and “Where is God?” You notice when I’m feeling sad and when Daddy and I are mad. You suggest hugs and time outs when you notice we’re overwhelmed.
You are sweet. You love our dog Gus, rainbows and your grandparents. Some nights you sing yourself to sleep. You like to hold our hands.
You are a wonder. You are all this and more than we can possibly imagine. You are learning and growing daily. You are our teacher.
Sweet boy, these are my hopes for you:
I hope you hold on to your sweetness. That you’ll keep feeling your big feelings — and that you’ll be unafraid to tell us about them. That, when faced with a difficult decision, you’ll choose to be brave and kind. That you’ll remember to include others.
I hope you fail. I hope you’ll make mistakes, get rejected or cut from the team. It’s an odd hope isn’t it? But leaning into discomfort is how we develop grit. When you, inevitably, get knocked down, I hope you’ll rise up, keep going or change course.
I hope you never doubt the power of your voice. Today you boldly declare your needs and wants. I admire that about you. I hope you’ll continue to speak up, both for yourself and for the common good, and that you learn it’s equally important to listen.
Most of all, I hope you know how deeply you are loved — by us and by your Creator.
Happy third birthday, Jack. You light up our lives with love, joy and wonder. We are so, so grateful for you.
P.S. Those hopes for Jack are my hopes for us, too.
Erin Strybis 