“I have a plan. The plan is to one day throw paper airplanes at the ice cream truck. It’s not going to be easy. But I’m never going to give up on this idea.”
I’ve always had an affinity for five-year-olds. When I was a teenager, I taught Sunday School at my church, and the five-year-olds were my class. I just adored this stage – when they are developing their own little personalities but still have such an innocent curiosity about the world.
Jafta’s fifth year feels like a whole new phase in parenting. Finally, there is a kid in this house that can be reasoned with. Who is able to talk about his feelings without a tantrum. Who gets my sarcasm. Who doesn’t need me to dress him or wipe his bottom. (On most occasions). Who loves Tuesdays when we strategize what he can take for show-and-tell that won’t be “too obvious”. Who frequently starts sentences with “the fact is . . .” or “I’m not even kidding.”
The other day I let him watch Little Shop of Horrors for the first time. A little inappropriate, yes, but I make major concessions for musicals. He liked it, but he told me it was basically Dreamgirls, only with a plant that eats people. Which, in my book, is just a perfectly awesome observation. He likes showtunes, but he also loved Greenday, The Beatles, and The White Stripes. He is the master of air guitar.
It has been a delight seeing him blossom this year as he entered kindergarten. He loves school. He is learning to read. The sight of him sounding out words in a book makes me a little misty. Yesterday he brought home a book from school and read it to Karis. I DIE.
The other night we were eating dinner and I was frazzled from a long day. He could tell. As we sat down, he took charge and suggested that we light a candle and put on some music. He also suggested we do some affirmations, and he went around the table giving a thoughtful compliment to each of us. It was such a surreal moment. I do so much caretaking all day. Seeing him step up and lead us into a more connected dinnertime was an awesome glimpse of the young man he is becoming.
He lost his first tooth. And then his second. If I could just freeze him at this age, I would.
So, to exhausted moms of busy, hyerpactive three-year-old boys everywhere . . . I am here to tell you. It gets better. Five is a magical age.