Five...

I realize that it is entirely too cliche to begin a blog post with the phrase "where has the time gone?", but that is exactly what I'm asking myself today as my sweet baby boy turns five. FIVE!! To me, there is something so significant about five. It's like saying goodbye to babyhood and hello to boyhood with a single turning of the calendar page.

While he'll always be our little Davy Crockett and still sports his coonskin cap on a regular basis, he now aspires to the likes of Red Ryder. He straps his holster on, dons his cowboy boots and hat, tightens his red bandanna and with a twinkle in his eye, asks "Do I look him, Mom?"

He painstakingly writes pages and pages of words, carefully forming each letter, making sure he has perfectly printed the names of each and every member of his family. He loves memorizing Bible verses and answering questions during family devotions. He is not intimidated by being the youngest of the older pack; he is driven and motivated, desiring to prove he 'can' to himself more than to anyone else.

This little-big boy who began life so precariously is a daily reminder of the hugeness of God and the days He numbers.

This past week, we celebrated his 'last fours': the last time he would go to church as a four year old, his last bike ride as a four year old, his last bowl of cereal as a four year old, the last time I would kiss him goodnight as a four year old, and on and on. Though he was excited by the showering of attention, I'm quite certain the significance was lost on him.

He was looking ahead to five, while I wanted to stay in the land of four forever.

The land where matchbox cars are lined up by the mile, where exuberance and high-pitched squeals seem never ending, where l's and r's still sound like w's when he asks me to tie his shoes 'wee-wee tight', and where he still says 'Mommy, will you hold me?' Oh, I know these events will still occur; I know he won't stop immediately just because he's a day older than he was yesterday. But it's changing. He's changing.

He's growing, maturing, and coming into his own. There are moments when he's doing something inane like standing at the piano pounding at keys, but when I catch his profile, I see him in my mind's eye 10 years down the road: almost a man.

And it makes me want to savor every moment.

It reminds me that rather than telling him it's time to get off my lap so we can get our day started, I should deeply breathe his sweaty little boy morning smell; that when he asks me how to make a 'P' for the twentieth time this week, I should sit down with him while he makes rows and rows of 'Ps'; and that when he tracks in mud with his yellow rain boots, I should take a picture instead of telling him to go back outside. Because someday I'm going to wish it all back. And I have a feeling that some day isn't very far away.

Happy Birthday, Davy Crockett!! We are so blessed by the gift of you!!

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you... Jeremiah 1:5