Four is parading to the curb in a rainstorm with a red pillow perched atop your head as a makeshift umbrella. It’s catching salamanders at the lake and picking your nose first thing each and every morning. It’s rocking on the front porch without a stitch of clothing and laughing about poops and toots and burps at every opportunity granted.
Four is a nasally “whhhhy?” expelled after nearly every statement made.
Go put some clothes on. Whhhhhyy?
We don’t pee off the front porch. Whhhhhy?
Dinner is ready. Whhhhhhy?
Help put all the dinosaurs away. Whhhhhy? Whhhhy? Whhhhhy?
Four is cheeks that turn fiery red on summer days. It’s sweat soaked blonde hair and the musk of earth in your clothes. It’s long, lean legs racing down the sidewalk trying to keep up with big brother on a scooter. It’s playing so hard you fall asleep at 4:30 in the afternoon and don’t wake up until the next day.
Four is an absence of the the letter “l.” It’s “wook at me” and “I wove you.” It’s cleaning the storm door while wearing a pair of swim goggles, and looking pretty darn cute as you go about your work. So what if most of the glass is still smudged. You gave it a hearty effort.
Four is loving peanut butter sandwiches, applesauce, and ketchup. It’s sneaking into kitchen cabinets for cinnamon and baking soda so that you can do your own science “spearmint.” It’s spending time each day in a whirlwind of adventure, mischief and curiosity.
Four years ago, our eyes fell upon Parker James for the the very first time. It was just after one in the morning when his tiny frame was wrapped snugly into a blanket burrito and placed into my tired arms. He was soft and fresh and miraculous. Four years later, he is still quite soft, not nearly so fresh, but every bit as miraculous.
Happy fourth birthday, Parker! We love you so!