I love this mosaic of pictures of you and Lisa from our vacation.
Dad
One dad's ravings (and mom's, too sometimes) about a growing boy and his kid sister.
You've been an eager and competent helper. We've even noticed a
renewed diligence as we hear you counting to thirty while washing your
hands.
Dad
Ruby Claire was born yesterday. You came to see her in the hospital
and got to hold her yourself, just like you learned to in your
'siblings' lesson last week.
Before leaving the room last night you climbed up on the bed where
Mommy was holding her and adorably sang a few verses of The Sound of
Silence.
You are a wonderful Big Brother.
You slipped and fell in the bathroom. You tried to catch yourself on
the toilet bowl but your hand slipped in, leaving your face to catch
the porcelain instead.
The sound of impact was heard throughout the house, even over the
music playing.
Your lip is cut and swollen. And it's one of the few times you've
actually bled from injury.
After some wildly wrong directions from Google Maps extended our hunt
for breakfast this morning I told you I appreciated your patience, and
that I'd need even more of it.
You told me you would show "more patience than <you> even needed to".
You said you could be as patient as an eagle.
Apropos, I thought, and I commented that eagles were verrry patient—
sometimes sitting still for hours at a time waiting for prey.
I guess you weren't as impressed as I was by the imagery, as you then
announced you could be more patient than an eagle. You would be as patient as a building. In fact, as patient as a skyscraper!
And you were.
—
Later in the day, standing in line for a ride at Legoland and frustrated that someone had jumped in front of you and taken your spot when you were next up, you started to get agitated. I leaned over behind you and whispered "patience of a skyscraper". Without turning your head, or acknowledging me in any other way, you suddenly stilled. Your hands eased to your sides as you seemed to grow an inch or more. You faced straight ahead, and there was a distinct lack of rigidity to your motionlessness, yielding a strong impression of poise well
beyond your four and a half years.
Dad
Toward the end of our 8-hr drive yesterday you announced rather out-of-
the-blue that since your initials are DMG, I could call you that, and
that I shouldn't just call you D.
You re-iterated it this morning, pointing out that I was still calling
you by your name and not by your initials. I asked you to be patient
while I work on transitioning.
Dad
Out for dinner on our road trip to Legoland, you jumped at the chance
to have the "mussels with pomme frittes".
Our server was very impressed, and while you ate we got a visit from
another server who stopped by just to comment on how impressive were
your culinary preferences at such an age.
I was just glad you didn't take one bite and reject them outright.
Dad
You just lost access to ~85% of your toys. And you took it seemingly
in stride.
A couple buds were over for Pizza Night and you decided it would be
funny to take every single item off the shelves in your room and pile
them on your bed.
Mom didn't find the humor therein, so she packed everything into
garbage bags while you played in the living room and I put them all in
the attic.
As I alluded to, you took it surprisingly well. You seemed to know—
even at the time—that your actions had crossed a line. You understand
what happened and why, and you've yet to complain or object.
It'll be interesting to see how this plays out. Sure makes for a nice
opportunity for a much-needed reorganization of your things.
Dad
You're going to have a sibling, born right around the same time as your fifth birthday.
We don't know yet if it's a brother or a sister. And we're not planning to tell you about it until you start asking questions of your own accord.
Dad
You're sitting atop your playhouse picking the snap peas that have made their way out of the garden boundaries.
I've got some ambitious plans for our summer garden, but the winter
garden is proving too bountiful for me to tear it all out yet.
You surprised me a bit when you claimed your belief that chickens like
to eat grass had been validated through testing:
Dad
You helped Uncle Marc mow his lawn, explaining to me that you could do
so because the mower was not "electronical".
Dad
I returned home today from an exhausting, whirlwind of a trip, and
took a nap. I woke up to find three sealed envelopes taped to the back
of my bedroom door.
You had carefully crafted three hand-made cards for me using stickers,
stamps, and hand-written messages. This one says "Dear Daddy, I love
you so much".
Ilana says you spent well over an hour non-stop on this map, tracing
each puzzle piece carefully in its place before finally coloring them.
You've been crying on and off for the last 16 hours as each ear has
taken a turn in the spotlight.
Dad