Dear Boy and Girl,
Well. Sixth grade has been interesting, right?
Okay, it sucked balls. We all knew it was going to suck balls. There isn't anything good about being thrown into a school with 1198 other kids when you're eleven years old, have zits on your forehead, and are going through a really awkward stage. Adding insult to injury? Then you were both separated from all your friends from Elementary school. Not to mention the fact that the vast majority of those Douche Lords you got thrown in with? Are mean. And scary. And probably going to end up in jail in a few years for a myriad of reasons, the least of which is that their parents didn't turn out so they are raising children who didn't turn out.
Still. I've been impressed by you.
You both held your heads up high and walked into that nightmare every single day. You are both solid B students and I (straight A, overachiever type) have learned to not only accept that, but embrace it. Considering you were born far too early and with massive life disadvantages and pretty much a genetic nightmare? The fact that you are slightly above average is pretty much a miracle to me. Every year the Girl Child has walked away with numerous end-of-the year awards for academic prowess in certain areas (English and Reading) and her general pleasantness (Good Citizenship), but this year the Boy Child brought home certificate after certificate too. For Science and Social Studies and all manner of things that the Girl Child and I shake our heads slightly about. Even though moms don't get invited to the end-of-the year "ceremonies" once you hit Junior High, I was still tremendously proud in my own living room.
You sang in the choir. You got your black belts in Tae Kwon Do. You had your first real experience with a bully. One of you got glasses and the other of you got new glasses. We've had some tears but we've had way, way more laughter. Way more good times.
You read more books, you found what interested you. We made movies and videos (still hoping they'll go viral, right?). You expanded your mind. You taught ME how to compost. You thought a lot about what you want to do. Where you want to go. You're thinking about being grown-up type people. You're thinking about your futures. About life and who you want to be.
You are hilarious. You are kind. You are still, both, genuinely nice people. People I would choose to have in my life. Yes, you say "buttnugget" with alarming frequency, but that's okay. It's really okay.
Seventh grade is better. Not much better, but at least you aren't the youngest kids in the school anymore. You've figured your way around. The teachers know and like you. You've built positive reputations (largely by not saying "buttnugget" while at school, I suppose). You're the kind of kids that most teachers like. That most parents like. That most employers will someday like.
That your momma likes. A lot.
I'm proud of you guys. I know it's just sixth grade, but you survived it. And survival skills are pretty amazing skills to have.
Love you and love you and love you so bad,
PS: Lady Flowah PAIN SHOWAH!
PSS: I'm so wrong. But you knew that already.