A Boy

Eli will be four in two weeks. Lately, it's like his brain and body are having a little contest each day to see who can get there faster. Daily, Joel and I are updating and asking, "Have you seen him do that before? Guess what he asked me today? Did you know he could do that?"

He is a boy.

He climbs trees. In our backyard. He's a monkey you know, like Curious George. Which means sometimes, he will go an entire 30 minute without saying an actual word, while I decipher from his pointing, waving arms, smiling face, gestures, and "ooh-ooh-ah-ha"s as he communicates that he would like a drink, a banana, and a graham cracker. And then back to climbing. I may be taking him to the ER someday soon for a broken limb, but I'm okay with it. I think.

He is scared of things. He especially does not like going upstairs to go to the bathroom if no one else is up there. Today, he paused on the first stair, turned, and asked, "Are any sharks up there?" "Nope, they only live in the ocean." "Gorillas?" "Nope, gorillas are not allowed in the house." "Burglers?" "Nope, our house is safe." "Our house is safe?" "Yes, our house is safe."

He colors. Finally. For years, every marker or coloring crayon was nothing more than a drumstick. His preschool drawings were just scribbles, and he wasn't interested in writing letters other than his name. And then, one morning, after watching Blues Clues, something clicked, and he drew The Man with the Yellow Hat and Curious George and Huntleigh and they all had heads, eyes, noses, mouthes and arms. The man had legs. It was amazing.

His pull-up is dry more mornings than not.

He prays. On his bed last night, it went like this: "God, could I have a dream with two things in it? Little Einsteins and Curious George. And I want to be in it, not watching it, and ride in the rocket. And Curious George could ride in the rocket too. Amen." (He reported with some disappointment this morning that he did have a dream last night and got to ride in the rocket, but Curious George was not in it too.)

He jumps. Alot. When it's from the third step onto the sidewalk, it makes my heart do a little jump too. So far, he's been sticking the landing, but we just stocked up on Diego Band-Aids for those scrapes that come with being a boy.

He counts. Everything. And he prefers five. Like five more minutes please. And five chocolate chips please. And soon I will be four years old, and then I will be five.

But not yet mister. Right now, your just turning four, and that's big enough.