Sunday, August 21, 2016

Cuatro es tres.

Our littlest fellow turns three tomorrow. Well, actually he'll wake up tomorrow and the magical changing of the year will have already happened. I've hugged my two-year-old for the last time. Audrey and I had a good cry about that one when I tucked her in. She's so sad that he is growing so big because he's so cute and funny and sweet. I reminded her that she did the same thing. She even had the audacity to turn ten. It's a grand injustice of motherhood, is what it is. What I wouldn't give to rewind 12 1/2 years to begin again with all four of my kids. Instead, tomorrow marks the beginning of 7th grade, 5th grade, 3rd grade, and 3 years old. It's really too much for one mama to handle in one day. Too much new growing and changing of the guard and pangs of the heart.




I hugged Asher before bed, a nice and tight one that I never wanted to end. "I would start all over if I could," I told him. He smiled and laughed, oblivious to what that meant, oblivious to the tears trying to slip down my cheeks, oblivious to how incredibly happy and sad I am that he is turning three. I think mamas are especially good at the mingling of sad and happy feelings, at watching little people grow to big people, at mourning and celebrating the exact same moments.

All he wants is an ambulance. A few weeks ago, we purchased a used playset for the backyard. Jim and my cousin took it apart and hauled it here and were carrying it to the backyard when Asher boy looked down from the deck and incredulously shouted, "But I wanted an ambulance!" Good grief, we laughed about that. Really, we're still laughing about that. (He'll be unwrapping an ambulance in the morning.) Tomorrow he wants homemade pizza and sweet potatoes and cake and ice cream. We're having a small party next weekend. He wants to play at the park and have cupcakes and ice cream.

Those are the details. But then there's the boy. He's a nonstop talker, hugger, magnet block builder, car driving, game playing, game inventing, dog hugging, sibling chasing, bike riding boy. When he laughs or smiles people melt. His personality is as big as his buddha belly. He talks up strangers at the grocery store and gives peace at church while waiting impatiently for his communion bread. Carbs are his love language. He is a mama's boy through and through. He loves to help dada feed the dog or change the oil, and especially loves Ace  Hardware. He is ridiculously verbal, but won't use the toilet. He sleeps in a crib, but wants a big boy bed, which he'll get soon. He told me he sees an old lady in his closet. (creepy!) He loves books in laps, rocking in gliders, and snuggles. Then he wants to run like the wind! He wakes up in the morning, still early, but not so terribly early as he used to, and we snuggle and he tells me he loves me 1000 times and I kiss his cheekers and he drives cars on my arms.

Sweet boy, our sprinkles on top of our ice cream sundae family, will I remember you as you are now when three years more have passed? Your dimpled elbows and chubby cheeks and Ys that sound like Ls so you say Les instead of Yes. The way you open our dinner devotional, ask all of us to be quiet, and "read" it. "Don't kick. Don't kick a head off. Be kind." The way you wait mostly impatiently for communion at church so you can get bread, and then Pastor Vera gives me two pieces so I can give one to you and Audrey and dada tear off little pieces to share with you. The way you bike on the driveway with Elliot and chase Isaac around the yard while he plays disc golf. The way you play groundies with the big kids and they let you catch them sometimes. The way you fit in my arms just so with my head resting on your head, then you lean back and I see your eyelashes, long and blonde in the sunshine. The certainty with which you jump off the edge of the pool. The feel of your head nestled into my neck when you're unsure. That and more and all of it.




Our cuatro. Our Asher boy. We love you. You are our most unexpected gift and a lifetime of thank yous would never express our gratitude that you are ours and we are yours.







Happy third birthday, choochie face.

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