To Mateo, on your fifth birthday
Mateo, you are five. You told the whole grocery store you are five. They clapped, which you expected.
This year you learned to whistle (badly), to spell your name and to keep a secret for almost an hour. You are fearless about everything except the vacuum cleaner.
When you read this, I hope you still tell strangers good news. The world could use that.
I love your loud boots. I love the quiet ones too, the ones you wear when you are thinking. Happy birthday.
MAKE IT YOURS