My sweet, exhausted little boy.
You were up past midnight getting ready for your party, and you were up early this morning in anticipation, and you burned off all your remaining energy today.
When I look at you sleeping I see a 9-year-old, and an 8-year-old, and a 5-year-old, and a 3-year-old, all rolled into one.
Realistically, this was probably the last "Club Penguin" party you'll have, and I'm glad it was a good one--from the birthday donuts with no holes to the penguin figures you made.
You are silly and crazy and sweet and loving and inappropriate and a terrific artist and a wonderful boy to wrestle with and laugh with and listen to and hold hands with.
You're a great kid, and I love you so very much. I will always be here for you.
Goodnight, my sweetheart.