Wherein Kent turns five

My baby is turning five tomorrow. The tiny, curly-haired life that I first brought into the world, who carries my father’s middle name, who made me a mother, who taught me things about myself that I could never have anticipated, who made me cry harder, laugh harder, think harder, pray harder, and love harder than I ever had before, is growing, changing, into a unique little person. He reads by himself, makes origami tables by himself, opens the fridge by himself, adds numbers by himself, orders by himself at restaurants, gets himself ready in the morning, and invents entire projects with cardboard, paper, scissors, and tape by himself. He’s practically autonomous. I asked him if he would like some coffee in the morning with his birthday pancakes and bacon, since he’s almost a grownup and I figure he’ll start liking coffee soon. He said, “I might not like it, but I’ll try it. I’ll just have one cup.”

Of course, he still insists that when he’s a grownup, he’s going to live with us and go to work with Jack. He also insists that Dean will live somewhere else. Every older sibling’s dream: getting Mom and Dad to himself again at long last. Maybe the three of us will sit around and drink coffee together and complain that we wish Dean would call more often, or wonder aloud when Dean is ever going to ask that nice girl to marry him.

I also told him he’s going to be much taller when he wakes up in the morning. He was almost sure that I was kidding. He always asks if I’m kidding, even if it’s the most ludicrous thing in the world, like if I just said I was turning into a cat, or that we would never have dessert again. I never know if it’s because he really can’t tell — I’m very good at dead-panning it and have nearly alienated friends because they couldn’t tell I was joking — or if he just needs verbal confirmation that I know I’m kidding so he can make sure I haven’t lost my mind.

I’m starting to teach him to play the piano and read music, too. This one totally floors me. He played his first piano piece today from the Alfred book, alternating fingers 2 and 3 on the group of two black keys while singing a little ditty about playing notes with one’s left hand. Someday he’s going to play a real piece of music by an actual composer, and I will probably cry.

Oh crap. I just realized Dean is going to do all of these things by himself someday, too. And then he’ll move out, leaving Kent to reclaim their shared bedroom and have all the trains to himself again.

Seriously, where did this guy go?

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meeeelt. seriously. 5 is all kinds of awesome. ((hugs))
Love you!
I loved reading this, Erica.
Because I'm so slow, Kent will wonder who I am someday, though I will certainly try to keep that from happening!
But he will never forget the beautiful words you've written about him. He and Dean will treasure your blog. What a gift.
love you all, and miss you,
What a great post. I had not read it yet as i was living with the phone and it did not display for some reason. I thought of Jack waiting for Anilia to move on (she did earlier than he did) but I don't think she competed for the trains.
As for the music, that is such a gift - I wish that someone had pushed me to learn to play something - and I don't wish for much missed in my past.
You made it through the two and threes: well done.
We love you all. really...
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