Five

So I have a 5 year old. Pretty crazy. He is all boy, no hints of baby anymore. Well, except for when he is playing 'baby' and Evan is the dad who fixes tractors. But that's kind of annoying. He doesn't look like a baby when he's asleep, he sprawls out all long arms and legs. (Long being a relative term, of course, of which I am reminded after spending the weekend with my extremely long-limbed 'little' cousins. Relative to me, he is quite long.) He doesn't look like a baby in jammies, or in the bathtub. He rarely runs naked anymore at all, which is clearly a sign of maturity. Every precious bone in his back is defined and surrounded by sinewy little muscles instead of that squeezable, pat-able baby fat.

He can play quietly by himself with Legos, creating elaborate farm equipment and pirate ships. He consistently beats us at Wii games, and after a brief stint with a 'Good Sport' folder last spring, he is a good, well, sport. He is starting to read and I especially love to listen to him 'read' his favorite books, word for word and page by page. He takes care of the dogs and cats and chickens. He hauls wood and steers the truck and brings Matt tools before I can say 'what does that one look like again?'.

He is affectionate, compassionate, enthusiastic. Smart, smart-alecky. Kind, generous, brave, responsible.

I really like this kid.

What are you doing? he asked.

Writing about your birthday.

Do you have a 9?
Yeah.
Well press it!

9 Why?

Because! Today is December NINTH!

I think he is constantly annoyed by my denseness.

Right on schedule.