December 18, 2012
Happy birthday Hudson, now you are 3.
I find myself writing down little things that my children say. The sentences that fall in between conversations about trains, and sandwiches and markers. The words that I find prolific or funny. I write them down because I need a reminder of what it’s like to think like a child; to be untethered from logic and to be completely free to say whatever your mouth feels like.
Hudson is creative.
The thing about creativity is we are all born with it, a huge mound of it, it pours out of us like light beams, we dance in it, and we build it up with towers of blocks. But then we start to grow taller and our eyes become more aware of the world around us, and then slowly our tower of creativity becomes smaller and our light beams darken.
For my children I want to celebrate the creative, to let them bathe in it, to always tell them that they are something unique. Because the unique is the fascinating.
And so Hudson, when you put stickers on your eyebrows I will applaud you, when you make an tractor out of dried up bugs and rocks we will dance, when you ask “why” an unending amount of times, I will answer each of them. Because it’s important for you to grow up knowing that you are unique and special and creative.
Here are some of my favorite things Hudson has said that I have found unique, special and creative:
I have a lot of spider webs in my cough.
I had to close my ears because that show was too lumpy.
I’m all covered with the feel of baby hands.
Ice cubes— they burn me with cold.
Me: Do you remember when you were a baby?
Me: Do you remember what it felt like to be so tiny?
Hudson: It felt like strawberries.
Happy birthday Hudson. You have filled me with an immeasurable amount of joy. Your sweet disposition has captivated me. You have taught me what it means to really slow down because you are mild and never in a rush. The person that you are becoming is bright, imaginative, and caring. You draw me in with your eyes. And when you tuck your hand into mine, and lay your head on my chest I melt.
You hold my heart, Hudson Jack. Having you as my son for the past three years feels like strawberries.