Giggles and GrinsDecember 19, 2012 at 8:22 am | Posted in Giggles | 10 Comments
Tags: Birthday, Boys, Children, Curiosity, Growing Up, Motherhood, Poop, Relationships, Siblings
My Giggles is 5 this week.
He’s almost a kindergartner. With feet the size of a fourth-grader. And a cowlick that makes him taller than his sister.
He loves poop. Rather, he loves to talk about poop. When he forgets to listen, it’s because there was too much poop in his ears. When Lollipop irritates him, he threatens to dump poop in her room. When he and Bun are playing trains, one of the freight cars is more often than not hauling poop. (Thankfully, it’s the imaginary kind.)
He is strangely fascinated with batteries. (“How do they work? Why do they have chemicals? What kind of chemicals? Why can’t you see the chemicals? Why do they die? What do they get turned into when you recycle them? Why are they different sizes? Can I sleep with one under my pillow?”)
He will not touch broccoli. Or sweet potatoes. Or peas. Or green beans. Or spinach. Or smoothies. He will devour bananas. And cherry yogurt. And kolaches. And Tic Tacs.
He is in love with my blue electric pencil sharpener.
He helps his little brother put on his shoes. And feed the cat. And build a Lego tower. And get a bowl Cheerios. And sneak Tootsie Rolls.
He has an uncanny knack for finding money wherever he goes. In the dirt at the Y. On the curb at Schlotzsky’s. Under the Great Value soda machine at Wal-Mart.
He does not like me to clean his peanut-butter face with the time-tested spit-wash method.
He keeps his treasures in the tiny drawer next to his socks. Bits of leaves. Acorn tops. Starbucks sleeves. Bouncy balls. An empty toothpaste box. Chuck E. Cheese coins. A zebra magnet. A pizza-restaurant flyer. Two orange slinkies.
His entire day is an adventure just waiting to be narrated. Which he does. With plenty of “That was awesome!” thrown in.
He’s so big, and so little. When he heaves himself onto the pool ledge at swim lessons, I’m absolutely certain his lanky arms won’t support him. They bend and sway like a fawn teetering in the clover.
But those arms always hold. Even with that brick-red train track of a scar, they hold.
And because they hold, I do.
What’s in your child’s treasure drawer? Are vegetables his sworn enemy? Is there too much poop in your ears today??