Five is nightly walks around our neighborhood in this getup—a tutu and your "long hair" (aka Minnie ears and a cape worn on your head).
Five is being obsessed with Hot Wheels cars and tracks and playing with Barbies in your bath.
Five is saying "I am NOT going to bed! I am NOT reading books!" And then wanting to read as many books as you can until you yawn and your eyes get droopy.
Five is cracking up at funny parts in books, like the page in Dragon Loves Tacos 2 where it says "Dragons love diapers? That's not right. Let's try again!"
Five is claiming your new big boy bed "isn't comfortable" as an explanation for why you need to sleep in ours.
Five is squeezing your little fingers on my shoulders and saying, "Does that feel good?" Makes me melt every time.
Five is being game to try new foods, like turkey pastrami and California roll.
Five is thinking you know everything. Although, come to think of it, your siblings feel that way, too.
Five is asking questions about everything—why it gets dark at night, how babies get into moms' bellies, where squirrels go when it gets cold (often, our garage).
Five is learning dance moves from your big sis.
Five is still loving cuddles, sucking your thumb when you are tired and foot rubs (best of all: getting a foot rub while sucking your thumb). You have been demanding "Rub my feet!" since you were two, and nobody does them better than Daddy.
Five is spouting phrases that make us crack up like "That's the stuff!" when I give you candy and "That's so Donald Trump!" (I'm not really sure where that came from).
Five is the way your eyes light up every single time you get a piece of candy. Lollipops: still a food group for you.
Five is exploring the world. "Being naughty," some might say. Like that time you woke up before everyone and decided to spritz all the Lysol out of the can. I'd left on the windowsill in our entry. Or the way you continuously rip off pieces of rattan from the table on our front porch. And when I ask if you've been up to that, you look at me with a half-smile on your face and say "Um, maybe?" and it is really, really hard to not burst out laughing.
Five is being able to write your name, and not realizing that it's occasionally spelled backwards.
Five is sibling rivalry with your brother. For your birthday, you asked for peanut butter cake. (Max is allergic to peanut butter.)
Five is giggling at the nonsense rhymes we make up when we're driving around.
Five is being proud that you can throw a ball really far, ride a bike without training wheels and skateboard down the hill on our street while you do a little dance.
Five is you today, little man. You bring so much joy to our lives, and we love you more than words can say.