In three days, Carter Patrick will be five years old.
And there’s so much to tell about him.
The way that he wakes me up every morning, his eyes the only thing I see over the blanket, to tell me good morning.
How he plays the air guitar when he’s singing his signature rock n’ roll song, “I love you, Mom”.
How he runs, full speed, past all the other kindergartners to hug me when I pick him up from school.
How he’s reading and he’s writing and he’s doing math problems.How whenever he writes the daily message faster than his teacher he laughs and says, “You just got beat by a four year old!”.
How when the cashier forgot to give him a sticker at the grocery store, he told me, “She probably thought I was a grownup.”
How when I said I was on edge, he wanted to know why I wasn’t living on the land.
Or how he sticks his tongue out in dance class when he’s learning new moves in dance class.
How even on Jack’s grumpiest days, Carter can make him laugh.
How he wants to be just like Dad, so he draws pictures of the two of them fishing — and they both have beards.
How much he loves hot chocolate and peppermints.
How he holds both my hands in his when he says his prayers.
And just like that, he’s five.