Five.

Dear Alexis,

Happy birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If you're old enough to read this, then you are old enough to know that I just used my annual quotient for exclamation points in one sentence. In this case, it's very much so warranted. You have been looking forward to this day since your fourth birthday, and perhaps even before that. I had convinced myself that it was normal for a kid to have selected a theme for their next six birthday parties, but one of your preschool teachers mentioned this morning that she has never seen someone your age so excited for a birthday. I'm pretty sure that's means you're a nutball. (Oh, and seriously? You really want a Santa birthday next year? I will sacrifice and leave the Christmas decorations up that long, but only if you really want me to. Ahem.)

The other reason all of those exclamation points belong up there is that DUDE, WE HAVEN'T BROKEN YOU YET! Call it luck or whatever, but somehow, some way, you still sparkle just like you have since the day you were born. Your heart still glows brightly, filling the people around you with warmth and joy. You spread your enthusiasm for life with random trails of brightness here and there and everywhere. Don't ever stop sparkling, kid.

Alexis, I often think you came into this world for the sole purpose of teaching people how to be happy. It's your strongest skill, the thing that you do best. When you grin, the world grins with you. When you laugh, I guarantee the world laughs with you. When you stop to enjoy the little things, you teach everyone just how good life can be. You have taught me to stop and enjoy every minute, and then listened when I have taught you the same lesson before turning it back around on me again. You sometimes break a cranky mood by asking me a question that I've asked you many times, "Do you want to have a good day today or a bad day today?" Thank you for teaching me that it is a choice. Thank you for always choosing to have a good day. Thank you for sharing the will to be happy with me.

This is the year that you made the most of those good days as you sparkled your way into being a Kid. An honest-to-goodness Kid. When we first moved into this house just over a year ago, you couldn't reach the light switches. Now you don't even have to stand on your tiptoes. You've shed most of your Toddler-speak, leaving me to cherish "Sgabetti" and a few other rare linguistic gifts. You've left little kid music in the dust, instead preferring to listen to Phantom of the Opera and Katy Perry and Lady Gaga at top volume. Your tastes may be a bit suspect at times, but your enthusiasm squashes my thoughts of complaining.

Five.

It's a big deal, kid.

I hope your fifth birthday lived up to your expectations, and I hope every day that is to come exceeds those expectations. I live to fuel your sparkle, kid. Let's go have an amazing year together, OK?

Love,

Momma

P.S. Thank you for still calling me, "Momma" and not the more grown-up variation "Mom." Every time you say it, you send a flash of happy my way.

One Last Look at the Face of Four

Sometimes I Understand Why People Do Crazy Things

"Why did you turn off the music?" Alexis bellowed from the back seat.

"I'm trying to hear a sound," I replied. I had heard a faint thumping sound coming from the rear passenger side of my car. I was relatively certain that it was ice and snow that had accumulated in the wheel well, but if I was dragging a dead moose around from my tail pipe, I wanted to figure it out.

"What sound?" Alexis asked.

"A sound the car is making," I replied. I still hadn't managed to hear it very well. You know, what with all of the CONSTANT CHATTER FROM THE BACK SEAT.

"I don't hear anything," Alexis replied.

"Me either," I told her. "It might be because I can't hear anything but you, though," I threw in.

"See! There's no sound," she said. "Can you turn the music back on?" Alexis asked.

"After I figure out what that sound is, I will," I told her.

"What sound?" she asked.

I blinked. And again.

"Alexis, the car is making a sound and I need to hear it. Give me just a second," I told her between clenched teeth.

"I don't hear any sound," she reported.

I started to look around for Abbot and Costello. Maybe they were stuck in my wheel well.

"Shhh . . ." I told Alexis.

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm trying to listen to the car," I replied. I was pretty sure we had been having the exact same conversation for her entire life by that point.

And we had.

"Why are you trying to listen to the car?" she asked. If she hadn't been so genuinely curious, I would have thought she was trying to gnaw a hole in my brain.

"The. car. is. making. a. sound. Can you be super duper quiet for just a second so I can figure out what it is?" I asked.

"OK," she replied. She paused for a moment then continued, "Can you turn the radio back on?"

On and on we went. I finally decided it was indeed snow and ice in the wheel well that was causing the noise, but not before my gray hair count quadrupled.