Saturday was the Maxter’s sixth birthday. Six. Why does six suddenly seem so much older than five? Maybe because it takes TWO hands to illustrate.
As we were out and about celebrating his birthday, we were trying to decide what to do next when Max announced, “It’s my birthday, so I’m the director, like a movie director. I get to choose. You will be the director on another day.”
Later in the afternoon, my brother James called to wish him a happy day. They shared a very friendly conversation before hanging up. I said, “That was nice of him to call and wish you a happy birthday, Max.”
Max said, “Yeah! That was really nice! Who was that anyway?”
I guess it’s time for a visit. No?
We found a grassy park to inhabit for a while. Ryan and I sipped smoothies while the boys played Star Wars and used The Force on each other.
Perhaps because of Max’s delayed speech issues in past years, it felt like we had an 18-month-old for about four years. Maybe that is why his growing up is taking me so much by surprise. He is not a baby anymore.
I mean, just look at that facial hair.
My mom wrote one of her favorite poems by A.A. Milne in his birthday card:
When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six, I’m as clever as clever.
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.
I think I’ll keep him six forever and ever, too.
Except that he’s likely to be a riot at seven…