Yesterday you turned 6 years old. I can hardly say that, let alone write it. It just doesn’t seem possible. You’ve reached this age before we got in the basics, such as learning to tie your shoes or ride your bicycle without training wheels. Time has certainly gotten away from us.

Sadness is brought to my heart as I think about what each year as represented as you’ve grown. Instead of milestones like those above, we can measure your life by surgeries and medical events.

In so many ways I feel like you have been cheated over the past 4 years and it makes me angry. So much time has been focused on me and not you. For that I am sorry.

So it was fitting yesterday that during the exact time when you were born into this world 6 years ago, I was laying in an MRI machine having yet another medical test done. In an effort to diminish the memories it was bringing back of being helplessly stuck in a wrecked vehicle, I concentrated on breathing and focused on you. Much like I did 6 years ago during labor.

Yesterday I thought deeply about what has happened over 6 years and was has not happened. Where I thought our family would be when you turned 6 and where we are now. Most of all I thought about how what’s “normal” to you, isn’t to other kids your age.

I thought about the times when I’ve made it about me and not you. The times when I’ve chosen to ignore your needs and indulge mine. The moments when I’ve yelled in anger and cried in pity. The times that I definitely put me first and you second. Worst of all, there were times that I justified my actions by telling myself that I was the one who suffering, not you.

Aside from all these faults, you know how much I love you and that I would do anything for you. My hope is that if you take anything away from the situation life has dealt us, it is the character and strength that your father has displayed. He has role modeled what love and sacrifice involves, and how deep his commitment is to our family.

Despite everything you don’t have, you do have a wonderful father who loves us both. And that is not necessarily “normal” in the world today. Sometimes not being “normal” turns out to be a good thing.

I thank God daily for you both. I pray that the next 6 years will be more about you and less about me.

What’s worse than moving out to the country where there is no cable service and only dial-up internet? (Apparently farmers don’t need to check their e-mail or watch American Idol.) Hearing your son tell all of Wal-Mart that you forgot his birthday!

I have tried to explain to our son that it really isn’t his birthday and he is still 5 years old, not 6. No logic in the world can accomplish this task once a birthday party has been had.

Ethan’s pre-k class held a “summer birthday party” for all the children who’s birthday’s fall during the summer months. So he claims to now be 6 years old, although his birthday is not until July.

While at Wal-Mart (which also is far, far away) he proclaimed very loudly that I had forgotten his birthday. Once he had everyone’s attention, he went on to milk it by adding how he didn’t get any presents or any cake, that only his preschool class gave him a party.

I’m all for pretend play, but throwing a pretend birthday party is really wreaking havoc in my life!

I remember when I was pregnant that my fears weren’t about the pain of childbirth, breastfeeding or the unknown. Instead, I worried about the small stuff.

Several weeks after bringing Ethan home my mother-in-law visited and stayed with us to help. The kind of help that sits to the side and tells you everything you’re doing wrong and how she would do it. There was one thing she helped with and that was teaching me how to trim a newborns finger nails. I was terrified of using clippers and being a new mom I wasn’t aware they made these little curved scissors that work wonders on little bitty fingers.

Words cannot describe my fear of possibly hurting this small being. After the first year of Ethan’s life I became more comfortable and he became more active. As those of you with little ones know it’s like hitting a moving target.

Fast forward to present day. Ethan is almost 6 years old. At what age do they get over being afraid of getting their nails trimmed? Seriously? The kid is Mr. Drama when the clippers come out. You’d think I’d previously ripped his entire nail out by the way he acts. Or in his case performs.

I’m deeply afraid some day this will all turn into some freaky foot fetish. I have dreams about it at night - picturing him sitting with a therapist saying that his problems all began when his mother tortured him with the nail clippers. That is what he screams out when I trim his nails, that I’m “killing him.”

My belief is that all this started when he was younger and my mother would tease him saying she was going to bite his toes. He’d completely lose it, sometimes bringing tears and more drama. She will deny the relation between the two, but I see some coincidence there.

Whatever his own fears are, I’m fairly certain he inherited this anxiety from me. He doesn’t seem to sweat the big stuff, but the small things are constantly on his mind.

For instance, today he asked me if the trash man came on Christmas Day. I explained that they did not pick up trash on holidays. When I asked why he wondered that, he said that it wasn’t fair that the people who had pick-up scheduled for that day missed their turn.

The small stuff matters to him. That’s why the finger nails mattered to me.

Will wonders never cease? I hate that saying. My blue color won out and there are now two lovely coats on the kitchen wall. Thanks for all the reassurance that I was right, but I knew I was.

Ethan spent his afternoon in the new clubhouse. There is this very tall monstrosity in our backyard for kids. You can see it for miles. Ok, maybe not miles…but from way down the road. It’s got lights and electricity. What more could a kid want? I’m thinking it will come in handy after we move in and Nate disagrees with me again. Perfect place for him.

How much do you think it would cost to add heat out there?

We signed Ethan up for what we thought was t-ball. He is playing on a 5-6 year old team and it turned out to be a pitching machine league. So far he has done pretty well, but it makes me nervous to see a ball flying at him that fast. The parents on his team are going to provide quite a bit of entertainment for us. We’re only 2 practices into the season and I’ve already labeled a few of them.

See this guy? I call him “Hang Man.” See how he hangs on the fence constantly coaching his supposedly 6 year old son (who looks like he’s 8 o 9!) The man doesn’t stop talking and giving pointers and asking his son what he’s going to do if he gets the ball and… Seriously, I could care less how old his son is (who can’t throw, hit or catch), but either sign up to be a coach or sit down and shut up already!

And this guy looks like someone. Can you guess who?

Steven Seagal maybe?