'tis a strange and wondrous thing, how you're up and turning five and we're only beginning to know you. i could weep for the years i've missed were it not for the lifetime stretched before us, shimmering far off and hopeful.
here's a bit of what we're starting to know:
you thrill at the sound of the bob the builder theme song. you love baths with tub toys, crispix cereal, brushing teeth.
you must hold hands when walking, even from one room of the house to another. you sit leaned-up against your brothers, leaving four feet of empty couch on the other side of you.
your favorite english word: cake.
you take great joy in terrorizing the neighborhood cats, yelling dimet and meowing at them at the top of your lungs. word has spread, and they now flee at the sight of you.
you sleep like a rock star. (or maybe not a rock star, exactly, as i'm guessing those folks are chronically low on z's. like a librarian, then.)
you like to call your siblings banana and cookie, then cackle on the floor like an upended turtle.
you loathe exercise in any shape or color.
you continue to chatter happily to me in amharic, persisting in the belief that one of these days i'll catch on.
you have a lone, deep dimple on your left cheek that shows up when you talk.
you sneeze cuter than anyone i know.
you love to click mouses, press remote buttons, turn dishwasher dials, and increase the volume on anything that emits noise.
you smile big and easy.
you are loved.
happy fifth, little m. so glad you're home.