Dear Captain Jelly Belly,

Last Friday you “graduated” from preschool, and I feel I should say something wise and lasting on this auspicious occasion. Not that you care too much — you’re more than happy to look forward to a whole summer of staying home with your dad. But I was surprised to find that it was kind of a big deal for me. I was just so incredibly proud of you, and of the big boy you’ve become. When school started back in September, you were shy and tentative; now you are bold and self-confident. During the graduation celebration, you were the best singer in your class, following along with all the words and motions and clearly enjoying yourself. And when you waved at us and saw the glowing pride in the faces of your Mommy and Daddy, and beamed with happiness, I must admit I got a little teary eyed.

Your teachers tell us that you have a great sense of humour, something we already knew…you tell most excellent “knock knock” jokes of your own invention, and you love it when you can make someone laugh. Your teachers also told us about how excellent your vocabulary is, and what a good counter you are, and how you know all your shapes and colours. You’re a great participant in class and you always get along well with your friends, and don’t tell the other kids, but I suspect you were their favourite. They’re pretty lucky that they will get to see you quite often next year as we go back to the same school to pick up Gal Smiley three times a week.

This past year that you’ve been in preschool, and since you’ve turned four years old, your Daddy and I have been amazed at how much you’ve grown up. You’re such a big help around the house now that you can dress yourself and brush your own teeth and go to the bathroom all on your own. You like to talk on the phone with your cousin ChitChat and, when we are having a playdate with one of your friends, you invite them to play and create new games with them. Just this past weekend we were at a birthday party, and they had a slip-and-slide water slide in the backyard, and you couldn’t wait to get your bathing suit on and give it a try. Only eight months ago, you would have been clinging to my leg and afraid to go near the thing; but now, you eagerly tried something new and had a fabulous time. You amaze me with your bravery and the joy you find in life.

You’re not afraid to tell someone when they are bothering you and you’re not a pushover on the playground. But at the same time, I’m happy to say that you are still my sensitive little guy. You can easily be moved to tears by a sad song and you have so much empathy that you always pick up on the cues in movies and TV shows that explain the characters’ feelings. When I’m feeling cranky and tired, you often come over and tell me you have a surprise for me…then give me a kiss, a hug, and an “I love you, Mommy.” Definitely the best medicine in the world.

Sometimes I worry that you get left out of the action around here a little bit, because you are so very good at playing by yourself, and you can easily get so deeply involved in a game or a toy that we don’t hear from you for an hour or more. Certainly in these past couple of months when I’ve been very tired, I know I’ve taken advantage of that. But I know you’re going to have a great time this summer with your Daddy and your friends, especially your very best friend in the world, Gal Smiley. Sometimes the two of you squabble but overall, you really do play very well together, and I think you know that she is the awesomest sister ever for you. The most boring part of your day is when she goes for her nap in the afternoon, and the very second she wakes up, you’re right there, asking her to play with you. Luckily she’s pretty easy going and is always willing to be Woody to your Buzz Lightyear, or Stephanie to your Sportacus, or the Green Goblin to your Spiderman.

Lately we’ve been looking at a lot of baby pictures of you, and although sometimes I feel a little nostalgic about that little boy, mostly I feel excited about how far you’ve come, and how much farther you are going every day. Soon you’ll be starting Junior Kindergarten, five mornings a week, and I know I’m going to miss you, but at the same time, I’m going to be so proud of you for navigating the bus and learning some French and putting on your own snowpants. And every day when you come home I’ll give you a kiss, a hug, and an “I love you, Captain.”

Love, Mommy