happy birthday, third-born!

Ohhhhhh, Finneas.  Your sixth birthday was on Tuesday and, according to you, it was 'totally ruined.'  We didn't have time to have special birthday pancakes before we had to leave for speech therapy, there were sibling tussles throughout the day, and certain discipline issues continued to come up as much as they do any other day of the year.  You had it rough.

But one thing guaranteed that it wasn't a total bust of a day: you. turned. six.  You turned six!  We have had six privileged years of knowing and loving you.  Of hearing your funny jokes and watching you run around in your underwear all day.  Of cuddling next to you during family movie time and witnessing you teaching yourself to read.  Of talking with you as you, in your extroversion, beg to be allowed to introduce yourself to pretty girls at the store.

You still suck your fingers at night (which the dentist has started giving me crap about, so you really should stop) and carry your blankie everywhere you go.  I somehow wash more laundry belonging to you than that belonging to any other kid, even though you wear decidedly fewer clothes than any other kid.  (I still haven't figured out how that math works.)  You help me with the littler kids and can make tuna salad by yourself if someone opens the cans for you.  You love people, and feel deeply, and I have a lot to learn from you.

You're a constant puzzle, a source of constant surprise, and I just marvel at you.  You will do great things with your life, I can just feel it.