The other side of the decade. How you got here, I still don’t know.
Today you decorated a butterfly mask. Tomorrow is bigger to you than Christmas. You already know what you’re going to wear. I’m pretty sure your ensemble includes that butterfly mask.
You don’t yet know the flavor of your cake, though you’ve tried to get it out of me a couple times. You made sure to remind me to pick it up after 3 PM tomorrow, as if I’d forget.
Tonight we read about Marie Curie and Melba Liston. You were very specific that you needed to read about a scientist tonight. Science, you said. You wanted science. You were surprised to hear that there were computer scientists in your book, but you wanted the old fashioned stuff, so I went with Mme. Curie.
Tonight your brother shared his apple slices with you, a first act of kindness from him that I haven’t seen him do before. But he’s seen you do it so many times, and he loves to emulate you, so it shouldn’t surprise me. You’re always so good at sharing.
And you put your clothes away. It only took five days of nags, reminders, and vague warnings. (To be fair, I still haven’t put mine away, either.)
Anyway, kiddo, tomorrow you are six. You set the table, put yourself down for naps, open the gate for your parents (and know the gate code), love slides and swings, think Kirby is the best, and make me super proud.
We’re almost halfway to a teenager.
You’re just so wonderful.
