Lately, it seems that very little makes you happy. You are going through a phase right now where every rule violation, every unkept notion, offends you to the core of your sensibilities. I still can't get enough of you. I see these fits as signs that you're learning right from wrong, and you have a delicious and deeply individual moral code. In that respect, the apple has not fallen far from the proverbial tree.
I really miss you. Because I am away a lot, of course, but some particular things I really miss. I miss the way you used to curl up with me on my lap, and I miss the way that we used to have dance parties in the living room every Friday. I miss how you would always request Twisted Sister. I miss painting your face like Paul Stanley's and jumping up and down on the couch to Firehouse.
I know that part of your dissatisfaction with things is my fault. I am not home with you as much as I wish I could be. I wish I could do more to make you happy. You make me really happy. First marking period of third grade, you earned straight A's and perfect attendance. Again, apple-proverb-tree. You have a truly exceptional mind and you see the world through your own eyes. No one can shape you but you. But I don't want you to feel pressured to excel in the same way that I did growing up.
Just know that you don't have to be perfect, but you are.
Love,
Mama
