This handsome fellow turned four today.
We celebrated yesterday with lots of candy, some new toys and sledding in the backyard. (That’s the one good thing about winter: we have a great yard for playing in the snow. The front yard is an amazing snow fort right now, and the slope of our backyard is just perfect for sledding.)
I know it’s cliched to say this, but I can’t believe how fast time has flown, how grown-up he seems already. Yet he’s still a delightfully boyish mess of contradictions. He can crawl up in your lap and be all sweet and cuddly, and in the same moment he’ll talk about poop and/or blowing things up.
(My favourite sentence of his from yesterday: “The blue couch is the Sarlacc pit and if you touch it you’ll get eaten and die!”)
He is still sheer energy, capable of amusing himself just by sprinting from one room to the other or bouncing endlessly on the trampoline, usually while laughing hysterically for no apparent reason other than life is a whole lot of fun in that moment. He is physically incapable of finishing a meal without running at least one lap of the house. And even when he sits still, his mouth never stops.
He’s in that curious stage too where he’s always figuring things out. One of his most common phrases right now is, “I have to ask you a question.” He especially employs it at bedtime during his 18 trips out of his room for various emergencies. (“But I CAN’T go to sleep yet! I have to ask you my question! Umm… why is the hot water hot and the cold water cold?”)
It’s enough to wear you out sometimes, but he is also adorable and amazing and hilarious. Just don’t call him cute. He still insists that he is not cute — he’s dangerous. And he’s 100 per cent right.