The Gort is six today. Which seems….obvious and odd at the same time.
It certainly doesn’t seem like ‘yesterday’ that he was born. And goodness knows we’ve crammed a lot of living into the last six years: 3 countries, 5 addresses, 2 more babies.
But it is hard to see him change so much, so quickly. To realize our days of being tolerable (to him) are numbered.
There won’t be many more mornings of him running down the hall to breakfast, while yelling over his shoulder: ‘I’ll be back in a bit to snuggle with you!’
And there won’t be a lot more birthday eves when he tells us ‘I bet you guys are excited!’ [about my birthday tomorrow]. A presumptuous innocence that caused us to laugh out loud.
Nor will there be too many more mornings where he runs to the bathroom to ‘use the facilities’, flushes the toilet, and starts washing his hands while singing the ‘ABC song’ much too loud considering the early hour.
Because he just learned in Kindergarten that you’re supposed to wash your hands for as long as it takes to sing the ABC song.
Of course, the teacher didn’t tell him that it doesn’t ‘count’ if you start off at a regular pace and race through the last twenty letters as fast as possible. That the evil germs he is now hyper-conscious about, will not wash away.
I’m guessing nights of him and the Hen chatting while lying in their respective beds will grow fewer and farther between the older they get. Along with (eavesdropped) gems like: ‘do you want to be friends tomorrow?’
I took the boys for a walk in the Weaselhead Natural ‘area’ last week. We lingered on the bridge for a little while and then I said: ‘okay, time to go back to the car.’
‘Wait, I just need to pray first’ he told me. Which was the last thing I expected to hear at that particular moment. He squatted on the concrete and shut his eyes as he mumbled. Earnestly. I took a few steps closer to hear what he was saying, just as he concluded: ‘and please help Spring to come.’
It’s been in the forties and fifties ever since.