Birthday Tributes for my boys
I do this every year.
A birthday letter & session for each of my boys—so I don’t forget who they were at this exact age.
The way they spoke. What they loved. How they moved through the world.
This is my tribute to them. I love them so.
Sebastian,
Wild and sensitive.
Five looks like saying “fluffellos” instead of marshmallows and believing that’s obviously the correct word. We decided as a family this year that we like that name much better, and it’s officially a new Ziegler word.
It looks like long, patient snuggles with the cats—almost like therapy. You will find them and sit with them for long periods of time, completely focused, completely connected.
Five looks like wishing, very seriously, that you could be Spider-Man.
One day at school, I noticed an eyelash on your cheek and told you to make a wish. You said you couldn’t tell me and got shy. I coaxed it out of you for five whole minutes, and finally you told me you wished to be the real-life Spider-Man. You want to swing between buildings in New York. You’ve asked how we might find the Spider-Man spider so it can bite you.
It looks like falling in love with a tiny book called Theodore Mouse Goes to Sea—carrying it around like a comfort and asking us to reread it over and over.
You love soup. And I will never stop finding that funny and wonderful. Herbs, beans, vegetables—things you would normally never touch—you will happily eat if they’re in soup.
You are particular. Deeply so.
Sometimes that’s hard. But so often it’s also sweet. Your preferences are such a strong part of who you are. You know what you like and how you like things done. You believe your way is the correct way.
You love, love, love school. You would go more if you could. You are thriving there. You love your teacher—the same teacher Nehemiah had at your age. You love your friends, Cohen and Vita—names I want to remember because this is the first time you’ve had friends that feel entirely your own, not shared with your brother.
You look up to Nehemiah. You trust him. You follow him in a new way.
You ask endless questions about how things work. Just last night:
“Dad, show me how you put on your belt.”
You wonder how long until you’ll look like him. You want to be a man like him. You watch him closely. You love him so much.
And when you want something—especially from the candy jar—you soften your voice, make it very cute and squeaky, and promise, “I’ll be a sweet, sweet boy.”
I hope I never forget the way you say it.
Your little voice.
I wish I could bottle it.
Your voice right now is my favorite it has ever been.
You’re a little thrill-seeker—ready for roller coasters. Not so sure about the cold, but very sure about the ocean. Seashells. Trains. Animals. Painting. Mighty Pups. Zuma.
You make these funny “inventions” that aren’t inventions at all. You make us close our eyes, then open them for the big reveal—marbles swirling in a cup, proudly announced as, “My invention. It’s a tornado.” We hold in our giggles and put on the wow face you want. Then you create five more versions of the same invention, each one requiring its own big reveal and full performance.
You love locks and keys. Hiding things. Passwords. “Sneaking.”
You talk about hiding and finding every single day. You call yourself a jokester. You love the idea of secrets—of hiding something just to delight in the reveal. You explore nightstands and jewelry boxes like they’re treasure chests, drawn to small, meaningful things.
We want to remember all of this.
We want to remember you—exactly like this.
Happy 5th birthday, Sebastian. 🤍
Nehemiah,
Our sweet & silly boy.
Nine looks like disappearing into your room for hours, door closed, completely content—surrounded by beads. Sorting them. Studying them. Making jewelry with so much focus it feels like the world goes quiet when you work. You call yourself a professional beader, and it makes perfect sense. Beads make you happy.
You love accessories—leather pouches and satchels, stone necklaces, hats, scarves, belts. Hobby Lobby and the Springfield Leather Shop are your favorite places, and you could spend hours looking at rocks, stones, and geodes.
This year, you really fell in love with the Imagination Station series, and your reading has grown because of it.
Your cursive handwriting keeps getting better, and I still stop every time to look at it. It’s careful and flowing and so you. I love it more than I can explain.
Math comes naturally to you. Patterns, numbers, logic—they just make sense in your mind. I wonder where you get that from. 😉
You love adventure. Roller coasters. Swimming. Snow.
You built a fort this week and stayed outside for hours, completely unbothered by the cold.
Your favorite show is When Calls the Heart, and watching it with me is something I want to remember forever. I first started watching that show when we came home from the hospital and I was up late with you as a premie.
Rex still prefers to sleep with you.
Donuts and root beer are your very favorite treats. You also love food now, which still surprises me, remembering how picky you once were. Now you try everything. Your palate has grown right alongside you. You know how to savor—how to make a dessert (or even your pears) last a really, really long time.
I often catch you singing when you think no one is listening.
You make up your own songs and sing with a loud, bold voice—like a true vocalist—when you’re alone.
This year, you chose to be baptized by your daddy in the river.
Your faith is becoming your own—sincere and real. Watching you walk that out has been the most meaningful part of this year of your life for me.
You love your friends, especially Isabella. Having a friendship that close has been such a gift for you.
You are such a good brother.
You are someone Sebastian looks up to.
We are so proud of you, and we love you endlessly.
Happy 9th birthday, Nehemiah. 🤍
