Dear Charlie,
  You had a birthday. You turned five. You might as well have turned one million, billion, ten, fifty, hundred, thirty-three (as you like to say) because it seems to me as if you've been ours always. I can't remember what life was like before you. That is to say, that I don't remember a life when I was not perpetually exhausted and surprised, frustrated, happy and surrounded by utter chaos.
  Everything you do is enormous. Your personality is barely contained in your solid little five-year-old body. And speaking of your body, you are healthy as a horse. You are cautious enough that we never have dramatic injuries. You are insanely strong and coordinated. You can lift and move things that are many times your body weight, and have the fine motor skills to unscrew the rain gutters at Nana and Bapoo's house and disassemble your entire sandbox (No. those are not hypothetical scenarios)
  You love to dress that good looking body of yours. You carefully select your clothes and accessories each morning. You have a thing for accessories. More is more seems to be your theory. "Do I look good?" you'll ask, pointing to your clip-on tie. When I say that you do-of course you do, you return promptly with an additional bow tie or bandana, a hat, glasses, and a suitcase full of other valuables.
  Charlie, my darling boy. You work so, so hard. You inherited a love of physical labor and the accompanying head sweat from Bapoo. You don't play so much as you do work. There is always a construction site in operation in the backyard and more often than not, heavy equipment is being moved. The moment we walk into Nana's house, you get busy taking all the cushions and pillows off the sofas and chairs, you create a fortress with them, tape off a construction zone, eat popsicles or ice cream sandwiches from the freezer, head outside to sift through the tool boxes, meander around the yard chatting with neighbors or Miguel and Luis. You turn on all the hoses, shovel holes, and load every item which is not bolted down onto your dolly or the wagon and move it somewhere else (typically you move to California, but yesterday it was off to Mexico to feed the children there out of your refrigerator.) You prune trees, catch bugs, chase lizards, torment the dog, grab another snack, wake up anybody who dares to sleep, empty all the drawers, retrieve the scissor box, cut things, get the mail, sweep the driveway, then watch a show. All this is before I have set down my keys.
 You have had little to no interest in art. No crayons, paint, chalk or markers have merited more than a second glance-unless it has a purpose. You'll draw when you are designing the elusive "treehouse" that has been in the works for a year. You need to know exactly why you are working on art and take no pleasure in the experience, it is simply something on your checklist. You did however, just draw your first picture that contains human-like characters (instead of the knives, volcanoes or tree houses you can be persuaded to work on sometimes); one of them had a tiny robot inside its' stomach and you said it was me. And that it was a baby in my tummy. That was untrue, but wishful thinking. You are uninterested in a baby though, and would like another five-year-old boy to play with all the time.
  You make us laugh all the time with your clever little mind. You retain facts and scenarios from the documentaries you love to watch (especially about dinosaurs). You know everything there is to know about animals and can spit out ridiculous phrases and ginormous words that you use correctly. You also love rescuers-firefighters, police officers, emts, and you are always creating elaborate rescue scenarios. You always want me to follow the rescue vehicles and are constantly speculating about where they are headed.
  Charlie, you can be very tricky, as well. You watch shows on the iPad using netflix, since we don't have tv. You know that some of those shows are off-limits. We try to keep you watching things that are low on violence and high on education, and while you enjoy these, sometimes you can't resist sneaking an episode or two of Power Rangers or this weird fighting fairy show. The other day I tried to open the door to my room and it was locked. It took an awfully long time for you to get it unlocked and when I came in, I noticed that the pile of dirty clothes had been moved up next to the bed. I asked what you were up to and where the iPad was. You were quick to answer that you didn't want me to know what you were watching and to get to the iPad you had to move all the clothes, then crawl under the bed to retrieve the iPad and Power Rangers episode. We had a similar scenario the other day when I was getting ready for work. I got out of the shower to discover you behind the curtains watching a show with no sound. You kept encouraging me to "go back to sleep, Mom" and reminding me that "Mom, you really need your sleep." So smart and silly.
  You have turned into a real snuggle bug with a tender heart. You are quick to throw your arms around us in the morning when you wake up. You still sneak into our room every night and love to play with my hair. When you've been acting up, you are just tormented about it until you've apologized with tears in your little eyes and asked for forgiveness. It is remarkable and so very sweet. You are quick to forgive Mom and Dad when we make mistakes. We make a lot of them. You are our first child and not particularly easy to parent. Thankfully, you encourage me to take deep breathes and be calm, then lots of loves.
  We've already talked about this, but you are so perceptive and your memory is astonishing. Today after you answered a phone call on my phone, you turned and said, "Mom, remember when I called Grandma?" then laughed a little at the memory. I did remember, vaguely, but it's been so long! She died a year and half ago and that phone call was long before. You gave Daddy directions when he took Stella to Miss Emily's the first time, though you hadn't been there in months. They were good directions like, "turn left at the bank after you pass the park…." What!?! You remember each of the times you were sick and the things your class was doing when you missed school. Last year. When we were in Monterey, you were playing with some maps that advertised a sight seeing tour. The next day, you saw the corner of the sight seeing bus from the back seat of our car (you can't read, mind you) and called out that you spotted the bus from the maps. We are never anything but astonished by you.
   You love everyone, Charlie. You have special relationships with all four of your grandparents and your aunts and uncles. You are much adored by all of them. It's an unfair advantage, but there is something special about the first child and the first grandchild. We're not sure exactly what we're doing, but it's so fun to learn along with you. You are so easy going and so pleasant. You have no idea that everyone does not exist just to play with you and think you are amazing, because that's exactly what we do. You love to spend time with me and Daddy and you are learning to have fun with Stella. Finally! Sometimes.
  I'm pretty sure that there is nobody else even remotely like you in the world. You are a one-of-a-kind kid. I'm so glad you are my one-of-a-kind kid. I learn so much from you. You've decided that you love to pray and do it often with Dad. You soak up the Book of Mormon stories. I am constantly inspired by your questions and your faith. The moments of sharing my testimony with you are my favorite. I love to watch your spirit remember the things that your mind doesn't. I love to watch the person you are becoming. There's an impressive amount of courage, strength and faith in your heart. You are just what the world needs right now. Just exactly. It takes all of the energy your dad and I have to keep the world from getting in the way of your goodness. You are so very, very loved, Son. To the moon and back.
    Love, Mom