Now You Are Five

One year ago today, Bruiser, you turned four.

 

It’s been a wild ride ever since.

At four, you were in constant motion- playing games, singing songs, drawing pictures, and making up stories. Your fiery little personality only became more pronounced as you matured. Right after you turned four, you ended your potty training journey with one last EPIC showdown– and I do mean EPIC. Then there was that bout of secretly peeing in all of our trash cans. What was up with that, kid?!  Yes, potties were a big part of your fourth year , not to mention potty humor… It’s got to be a four-year-old boy thing.

From feasting on germs to acting out in public to sabotaging school photos, your bouts of mischief kept us on our toes , but OF COURSE it was never, ever your fault. When a pebble got lodged in your nose, you were adamant that “it just blowded up there.” You, obviously, had nothing to do with it. And once a babysitter gave you the idea, an imaginary boy named “Jerry” became responsible for everything from broken toys to… well… farts. Jerry has become like a second son to me. A second son who passes quite a bit of gas.

 

Then there was Christmas, when I caught you peeping at unwrapped presents. It wasn’t your fault, though!  The devil made you do it.

 

Despite your mischievous streak, we loved you to distraction and probably let you get away with far more than you should have. Somehow, you managed to charm every single member of our family.

 

From composing your own personal theme song (which you still sing regularly to this day) to climbing into our bed at dawn for snuggle time to “battling” the older boys on the street with adorable gruffness to constantly hugging us and kissing us and telling us how much you love us, you managed to wrap everyone around your finger.

But your best friend and biggest advocate was your sister.

 

Even though you drove her CRAZY sometimes, you adored and idolized Punky — and you had every reason to. She was always watching over you while you were four, whether you were playing on the beach or dreaming in your bed.

 

The two of you continue to be inseparable I hope it will always be that way.

 

Four was a busy time for you. Together, we raised butterflies, vacationed on Hilton Head Island,  played outside, painted and glued and colored and drew, made fudge, went to the zoo and the park many, many times, started a garden, read books, went to outdoor shows, and museums and amusement parks, and visited Chattanooga. All too conscious of the fact that this time next year, you’d be in school for most of each day, I made sure we had plenty of together time during your last year at home with me.

 

And then, right in the middle of our idyllic Year of Us, I got a new job— one that involved a few days of travel a month. You’re such an outgoing and personable child that I didn’t think you’d mind my occasional absence, or the extra hours that I was putting into my career.

 

I was wrong.

You began bursting into tears every time I left you at preschool or the YMCA nursery or with a babysitter. I was at a total loss because you had never, EVER done that before and because it wasn’t like things had changed all that much– I was still with you the vast majority of the time. I hoped it was a phase… that it was your way of trying to cope with changes in your life… but my heart hurt as I watched you struggle, and I felt the pain of the balancing act like never before.

Fortunately, after a few weeks of tumult, it got better. You stopped crying. And by the last month of your fourth year, I realized that the inevitable was happening.

 

You were growing up.

Almost overnight, it seemed you were taller. Thinner. Your vocabulary increased, along with your awareness. You began showing a real interest in reading and writing. And then, last weekend, a miracle happened. We went to the downtown library, and in the lobby we came across a bluegrass band performing on a stage, along with two traditional buck dancers. Watching from the sidelines, you folded your arms across your chest and began dancing, Russian style. One of the dancers noticed you, took your hand and pulled you toward the stage. I bit my lip, knowing that once you realized you were expected to get on a stage in front of 200 people, it would be over. You’d quickly return to me and hide behind my legs.

 

Instead, the opposite happened.

Tongue sticking out in concentration, you danced before that audience like you’ve never danced before, and they responded with much laughter and clapping. I watched you, breathless and in awe, as you matured literally right before my eyes. Just like that–

You were ready to turn five.

The night before your fifth birthday, I tucked you into your sister’s bed, where you’ve insisted on sleeping ever since she moved to her own room.

“This is my last night in Punky’s bed, right?” you said with gusto.

“Right,” I said, surprised. Would it really be this easy? I had thought the transition to your own bed would take months.

You got up the next morning and ran downstairs. “I’m five now!” you shouted. “Can I have a glass of milk?”

“No sippy cup?” I asked.

“No more sippy cups,” you said. “I’m five now!”

The sippy cups went in the trash can.

You are five now and you’re ready to tackle kindergarten. You’re five and right on the verge of reading and writing. You are five and you’re an inexhaustible bundle of pure energy and love. You’re five and you are all I could ask for in a son, and more.

Happy fifth birthday, Bruiser.

May all your wishes come true.