Jack Attack turned six last weekend.
We had a relaxed family day at Grandma Weldon’s. While the rain poured outside, we enjoyed chocolate cupcakes and a warm fire.
A new game of Perfection made us laugh, with its power to startle every single time it exploded.
Betty loves to give kisses, and who is better to love than Daddy?
So now we have a six-year-old in the house. Even though he’s still patiently waiting for his first tooth to fall out, he’s growing up. He’s my own personal body guard and he’s my sweet little boy. I do hope he always dreams big, like his walls that are covered in taped up wishes and dreams. Pages of lego magazines and cars and toys. Drawings he has made. Cockeyed static stickers. He has so many dreams of being a man. One day he will be just that, and I pray that his heart will always be tender towards others. I know that one day he won’t have playing cards duct-taped to his bicycle wheels to make it sounds like a motorbike. He won’t always wear his shirts backwards or forget to put on his underwear. He will no longer have a shelf full of shiny rocks, bottle caps, lego men, old keys, and special memories. Or, maybe he will.