5 is huge. 5 is tremendous. Fucking tremendous. After half a day of being 5, he was already saying stuff like, "The other kids in my school do such-and-such stupid things because they're mostly only 4 and they're little."
So I've kind of been reeling from 5, which is why I haven't managed to post about it until now. That, and some other stuff, both mundane and interesting that I won't go into for now.
|Only with lemon. Limes are expensive and hard to come by.|
So we went to his room I'd done up all birthday-wise the night before (it's still all there, by the way-- I'm good about doing up but not doing down and I'm still pretty damned grateful my mom cleaned up Christmas while they were here), and he was all, "Is that it? But Mama, where is my big present? Calliou got a big present."
And I thought maybe 5 wasn't too terribly different from 4, just more articulate. "Dude, don't be the kid who complains about his presents," I told him. "Birthdays aren't Christmas. Just smile so I can take a picture for Grandma and Grandpa."
|He kind of managed to smile, the poor deprived little dear.|
And then I reminded LE that Calliou is only 4 and will always be 4. "Why, Mama?" he asked.
"Because he's a cartoon." I told him.
"That's why he has no hair," said LE.
"Exactly," I told him. "But the reason his parents never get mad at him is because they're Canadian."
Just so I wouldn't have any anonymous commentors accusing me of neglect, I aimed low with the cake and decorated within my weight class. A big pink five and some stars and some frosting flowers and a heart, plus some candles I'd found in a drawer but have no idea where they came from. There are starting to be a lot of things in my house I have no idea where they came from. Like this one scarf I have, and these weird but strangely delicious candy-like cookies in the cupboard. Anyway.
|Mommies call first dibs.|
|I'd call him Pee-Pee. Also he sucks worse than Calliou.|
Just a little bit though. Mostly I was sad and then I drank a bit too much, which is probably why I couldn't interpret the notes-to-self. Damn you, Past Tense Stranger! It's cool how you always leave our keys and wallet and cell phone in the same place and stuff, but it sucks when you leave me cryptic notes.
I remember when I turned 5. I remember a lot of stuff from early childhood and very little of my 20s. I was walking with my cousin J.K. and my step-cousin Jason and I told them I was going to be 5 and 5 was super big. J.K. said something sweet and agree-ing about the big-ness of 5, because that's the kind of guy he was. Jason said something mean because that's the kind of guy he was.
And maybe that whole conversation didn't actually happen, though I'm pretty sure it did only maybe it was about one of my brothers turning 5 and not me.
In any case it doesn't matter because both of those cousins are dead now. But it's one of the things I think about when I think about 5. And also this one really big roly-poly bug that has nothing whatsoever to do with this story.
LE, for his part, is doing everything he can to make 5 the grandest year yet. I wonder if he's trying hard or if he's just like that. I suppose it's a bit of both. Tonight I was grouchy and I yelled at the cats a lot and was short with LE for no reason. Then I apologized to him for being an asshole and told him it was nothing to do with him, it was something else entirely (Turkcell-related. Note to self: tell the story of how I made Turkcell my bitch some other time), and he was all, "That's because I'm a sweet little boy."
Indeed you are, my man.
|Best baby ever.|