Home House Sticky Call Me Maybe

Yesterday, for the first time ever, Aksel sat down, of his own free will, and wrote me a letter.

(This post and letter was originally written in April 2017.)

I drew lines on the page to help with his baseline orientation, because Aksel usually has a hard time visually attending to the paper. This occasion was different though, he was in it, and more importantly, he wanted to write. (As a side note, I never thought I'd write those last four words? Someone pinch me, please!)

Then, I left him to it, and finished loading the dishwasher - curious and hopeful, the whole time.

Here's what he wrote, my Faulkner-like little boy, expressing in his own perfect stream-of-consciousness, thoughts, I'll cherish for a good, long while:

"mom dad Aksel Ali light thought i Love You food dog chick sick sicky Bank high mail home house sticky call me maybe make bake story the end."

(I think Carly Rae Jepsen would appreciate the reference?)

In life, I'm learning, now more than ever, that there's little point rushing that which isn't ready, because "the race" is in my own head alone. And Aksel, for all that he knows, shows, and holds back, is resolutely determined, to run steady at his own pace. And as his mother, I've just got to be on my mark, with my toes on the line...