Sigh. They truly are the best. I've had three of them now, and each time, I have been in motherly bliss for 12 whole months.
Not that they turn six and everything falls apart. And not that I don't enjoy all my kids at all their ages (except for maybe that nasty 2-week to 8-month time, when I'm infinitely exhausted and frustratingly out of shape, the baby has a dastardly combination of acne and gas, the other kids go crankily about their days under-attended, and Daddy nearly loses his mind trying to hold everything together).
But those five year old boys! My! With their rounded bellies like overfilled cups of steamed milk. Their wide open eyes, full of love. Their unrestrained laughter, their hours upon hours of pretend play. Funny-looking drawings, crumpled flowers pulled from pockets of cargo shorts. Underwear with faded forms of Batman saving the world across a 5-year-old's cute butt.
So you can imagine my salty tears last Saturday, when my last five year old boy turned six. A chapter in our lives is closing, but a new one is beginning! I'm thankful for all four of my wonderful children, and this week I am especially thankful for my rough-and-tumble, sweet-as-apple-pie Brave Ransom. I love you, son! Happy, happy birthday to you!
|To celebrate him, we went to a local hotel with a waterpark, just the six of us. He wanted, "A fudge cake with fish."|