58 and Counting

Dear Sammy,

Two months from today, you’ll turn 5 years old. We’ll have a cake of your choice, if you can be bothered to choose (you’re happy at “cake”), and I suspect a lot of Thomas-themed gifts. Your love of the tank engine remains completely in tact, if not gaining in fervor. You’ve taken to building your own meandering track configurations, only to spend most of the time creating spectacular crashes.

This past month, you’ve gone to a summer camp style preschool program. I think you enjoyed it. You were always enthusiastic about going to school (except for the brief moment when you realized leaving meant turning off Curious George), and told me about stories you read (about the beach! And pirates!), playing outside, and eating your lunch (this constituting the majority of our conversations). Even though you didn’t talk my ear off, and in fact had to be prodded repeatedly to cough up the info, I know that’s the kid of kid you are, so to hear any details at all meant a full thumbs up from you.

And because this 3 week stint went so well, your dad and I registered you for the 5 year old at the preschool in the fall. Because of your birthday, you could go to kindergarten next year, and we had a tough time trying to figure out what was the right option for you. Most everyone I asked said to wait on kindergarten, except the school administrators, but even they didn’t seem confident. They weren’t making a recommendation so much as saying what they had to. We just didn’t get a good vibe about kindergarten. There’s a lot more to learn there than when Mommy and Daddy were kids, and we don’t want you to have a hard time being the youngest in the class. So we decided you could learn a bunch of stuff in preschool and then be a total kindergarten badass next year. You’ll thank us in the next decade when you’re the first in your class to get your driver’s license.

Grandma tells me that when a kid turns 5, they wake up as a little person you’re happy to meet. I sure hope that’s true, because at 4, while you are an amazing kid who gives the best hugs, you have the patience of a pissed off rhesus monkey. When I ask you to wait a minute, say to cook the frozen waffle of your heart’s desire, you fling yourself into a wail of epic proportions, as if I told you to light the match that would reduce your beloved Thomas to so much ash. I know you have no real concept of time, but come on, how many thousands of waffles have a made for you? You’re not going to grow a mustache before it’s on your plate is what I’m saying.

But when you’re not throwing a hissy, you awe me. My chubbly bubbly baby has turned into a tall, lanky boy who loves to dig in the dirt and ride his bike with Daddy running to keep up. You have more computer skills at 4 than most kids double and triple your ages, and I’m afraid you might be trying to hack government sites when you’re supposed to be playing reading and math games. The best part of my day is when you come to find me after you’ve woken up (on the days when you don’t get up at the crack of dawn and I’m up before you) and you come into my arms with a big hug and sit on my lap. I could stay like that forever. Your vocabulary has grown by leaps and bounds, and you’re so observant. I can’t wait to take you on our road trip next month and show you the wonders of the country beyond your backyard. You’re going to love it.

This might be an unusual time to commemorate, 2 months before your annual birth anniversary, but I’m taking the time to celebrate the boy that you are right now, at this minute of this day. I can’t wait to see what you do next.

Love,
Mom