Today you are 69 months old!
We continued getting settled into our new house. You helped by making some artwork.
You discovered that you like playing baseball.
On a nice and sunny day, you went on a 5 mile bike ride with your dad:
Not too long after, it rained. And rained and rained.
You learned about dinosaurs one day in school, and that is the only day you’ve seemed even remotely excited about the education system (I don’t blame you).
At home, you watched a Magic School Bus episode about the planets, and since then, you’ve been really keen on outer space. You like drawing the planets, and you even made some planetary wall hangings for your room.
Aside from dinosaurs and outer space, you remain interested/obsessed with calendars and numbers. You have various calendars throughout the house, and you consult them regularly. You make your own calendars. You say things like, “December 2015 begins on a Tuesday,” and you are right. When you are telling me about something that happened at school or otherwise, you give me an exact date, with details about the weather. You know every single one of your classmates’ and family members’ birthdays.
Speaking of birthdays, you went to your first ever birthday party for a friend at Chuck E. Cheese. You were horrified by the mere idea of their inferior pizza (“I only like the [vegan] pizza you make, mama") but you did enjoy the games.
Your interest in Star Wars has waned, and you got really into Ninja Turtles this month. I blame peer pressure.
You now wear a ninja mask at practically all times.
The neighbor’s cat, who has been known to wait at our door, and when we open it, run into our house. We don’t know why.
You had your kindergarten spring performance in May. You practiced most of the songs to me in the weeks leading up to it, but on the big day, you were really shy. You had a bandaid on your elbow (from some ancient or imagined abrasion), and it came loose during the performance. For at least 2 of the songs, you abandoned the idea of singing and instead fussed with your bandaid.
The expression on your face pretty much sums up how underwhelmed you are with the whole concept of school.
We finished this month out with Mother’s Day. I had been hoping we could go on a family hike, but after days of rain, all the trails were closed to the public due to flooding. And then we got snow.
You gave me a card that said, “Mom you are the best at cooking,” and I loved it. Thanks, William, so much.
Daddy took us to lunch at Native Foods Cafe in Denver. We got cupcakes for dessert.
Then we went to IKEA. It was our first time. Some of us were more excited about that than others. It was overwhelming, but we finally managed to find you a new bed, as well as some new chairs for the whole family.
In the self-serve warehouse, after a long day.
Daddy had to get creative with loading the boxes on the way home.
We did it.
Daddy even managed to get your bed built so you could sleep in it that night. You were so happy. You’d been sleeping in the same bed your whole life: a crib that converted to a toddler bed, that converted to a daybed. It was way too small for you at this point. You had never complained about it, but once you finally got all snuggled into your new, big bed, you smiled and hugged us, and told us how much you loved your new bed. You are so sweet.
The next day you did some “work” at your desk, sitting in your new desk chair. And wearing a ninja mask. (And possibly with some chocolate on your face).
On Monday, there was a Mother’s Day picnic at school, but the ground was still so soaked from all the recent rain that we ate inside. You were thrilled to the moon that I was able to join you for lunch, and then play with you and all your friends at recess afterwards. You didn’t want me to go when it was over. You sobbed and clung to me and begged me to stay or to take me with you. Finally, your teacher made you go inside, still sobbing, and I raged at a world that seems so determined to take you away from me and dismiss the way you feel. Something’s got to give.
During your rest time that day, you drew me this picture, and my heart shattered into a hundred thousand pieces when you gave it to me after school.
William, you are almost finished with your first year of school, and I am so proud of you. You have your own way of thinking about things, of doing things, and that might make the education system difficult at times, but I assure you this: in the long run, that’s what’s going to help you out the most. You’ll be the one who can look at a problem and come up with a solution that nobody else has ever thought of before; you just have to keep believing in yourself and keep being kind, even when you don’t feel like it. And no matter what, I love you all the way to the farthest, farthest star. And back.