Happy 7th Birthday, Boodle!

Before you were born, your Grandma Mama Mia bought you a stroller. She asked me what I wanted, I told her, and for the first time in my life she didn't argue, tell me I was wrong or get me something else that she wanted, instead.

I was proud of her, and even prouder of myself for not pointing out that what she could not do for me, she managed to do for you. It was an omen.

That stroller, like you, turned out to be pretty special. You charmed everyone off their feet in your fancy ride; walking down the street or pushing you up the aisle in the store, daddy and I would laugh at how plush and raja-y you looked, tucked up nice and cozy in there. While you bumped along, you were the perfect, happy little Buddha. Because of your undiagnosed GERD, back at home with all that frantic screaming and walking the floors at 3 am, was another story.

Time and syringes full of nasty-tasting medicine helped you grow out of that and with Strolley to help us get through the worst, you never needed that surgery they thought you might.

Your eyes are older and wiser than your years, but your stroller smile always said "brand new baby with no worries, here." I still see that smile sometimes: when you first tasted Polish ice cream, or when you "got" daddy's funniest knock-knock joke. So satisfied and so sure that this is the absolute best thing, ever, I hope you always have reason to show that smile.

Heather-mommy's first nickname for you was Triple A, because your 3 Greek names begin with A, A and A. But your really-real nickname was and always will be, Boodle.

It comes from Boodle Boddlington the Third, Rich English Baby, which we only ever said with horribly fake British accents. This used to make the normal people we knew laugh, and behind our backs say that we were insane. Boodle was something we thought you looked like when you crawled across the floor and rolled alternately, to get where you wanted to be. You looked a bit like an inchworm doing somersaults and we said that was called boodling, and you were the boodler. A boodle.

You don't need a stroller anymore. You haven't boodled in at least 5 years and you can't stay in one place 5 minutes. You hardly ever let us pick you up and hold you, and if you do happen to come sit with one of us and stay still for too long, we know it's because you're sick.

You're not my baby, or anyone's "little" anything, anymore. You're tall, you're gangly, and somewhat articulate, when your mouth isn't stuffed with food. You break into song and dance whenever you hear music that moves you--so I avoid taking you to the food court at the mall. You're very careful and kind with animals and children younger and smaller than you, you're a worry wort like your mama, and REALLY into Star Wars like your dad.

Your coloring truly comes out of left field. Yes, Greeks and Italians aren't SUPPOSED to have fair skinned, blue-eyed blondes. But you're not German and you're not adopted (thanks for asking, random strangers!), and while you may be part angel, you're all mine.

Favorite eats: raw veggies with homemade tzaziki or ranch dip, pizza, spaghetti, pierogi russki, and chicken tikka masala and naan. You like brussels sprouts, crab legs, spinach, broccoli, chorizo sausage and cauliflower, too. Even when you were nursing, you were a gratifyingly good eater and I've always been happy to see you enjoying your food.

Your best friends in the US: Lilly and Calvin. As much fun as a barrel of monkeys, but far less trouble, we all miss them and their family. It's sweet that you remember your very first best friends, Miss Ettie and Miss Bunny, that we moved away from a long, long time ago.

Your imaginary friends, Taggi and Poggo, that you brought with you to Poland? When you met Cora and Rebecca and Paul and Lina, going to ISK, especially since your buddy Will in Grade 0, they seem to have vanished and you never talk about them any more. But if they are out there somewhere, I know they'd want to join me in saying this:

Your goofy breakdances and your little "to do" lists are adorable; so is how you can't ever brush your teeth without using up a tube and a half of paste.

You are the only kid I know to have Jedis in your ears we need to get out with Qtips, and who gets their paws clipped, not their fingernails or hands. Like every kid in the entire universe, you still think the word "butt" is funny. We're working on that.

You can't sleep without your stuffed puppy, Douey, without several pages of at least two books being read, a visit to the bathroom, several adjustments of the blankets and pillows, trips downstairs to tell us you can't sleep or that you're too hot or too cold, and a freshly opened bottle of water next to your bed. We're working on that, too.

You are a super reader and love books as much as legos, and have memorized lots of 3 and 4 syllable words from various encyclopedias on inventions and space and dinosaurs, that you are really into now. You and daddy share Xbox secrets for Mario Kart and Viva Pinata, but you still like to help stir and lick the spoon when mommy makes cake. You don't like sports and physical things, except running in the park with no particular place to go, and floating around in the pool.

Happy Birthday, Boodle. You're a good boy, and the best thing that has ever happened to me. Even though you debate me to death about every cotton-picking little thing, and somehow manage to sound like a herd of elephants joined with an out-of-tune piano when you come running through the door every day after school, mommy can't help but love you more and more, every day.

"Night-night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite, see you in the morning light for breakfast!"