Happy Birthday to Cal!
Believe it or not, unlike every other birthday, this one did not feel like it snuck up on me too quickly. I mean, yes, I blinked and you turned FIVE, but at the same time, you have been asking for over three months "How many more days until my birthday?" and, well, even a mama truly heartsick that her baby will soon need two hands to show his age gets to a point where its kind of like please God let it be his birthday soon! God bless Mamaw who created a birthday countdown calendar back in May that allowed you to cross off days and see how many were left until the big day. Every morning, like the big little man that you are, you would pop out of bed, take care of business, let the cats out of the gameroom and come downstairs to mark off one more day until you turned 5.
Speaking of letting the cats out of the gameroom... we have learned that some mornings you like to let the cats out of the gameroom, only to herd sweet, scared-of-her-own-shadow Hazel into your closet where you will tell her to wait, shut the door and then leave her locked up while you have breakfast so she is ready to play later. Poor, sweet Hazel.
Tonight we went to the track - Dad had night class, and it seemed like a good day to run around the track and toss the football before taking a dip in the pool (OH HOW I LOVE SUMMER EVENINGS!) You insisted on wearing your flip flops, which seemed like a bad idea from the get, but you assured me you were going to just hang out and kind of play at the field, and did not plan on actually running around the track. Cut to two minutes after we arrive when you decide that you and I should run a lap together. Thereafter, you and Daph proceeded to run another 3 laps while I threw passes to Cooper. I was impressed with your little legs, but even more impressed with your feet! I mean, a mile in flip flops is a LOT! I commended your effort as we walked back to the car, and you started telling me that you were practicing because if "George goes to [your] five year old school, [you] want to be able to beat [him], because [he] beat you at four year old school all the time, but [you] beat [him] some of the time" and "[you] were ready to blow past [him] with your superspeed". Then, while we were driving home you kept saying "Georgie Porgie is going to lose". What can I say, kid? You come by the smack talking honestly.
You are such a big boy, despite being my baby. And I felt the full extent of both of those extremes when we went to the ER earlier this summer. Yes, 12+ years into being a parent, we had to rush to the ER for stitches in June because I was oh so very stupid and chased you playfully up the stairs at bedtime causing you to trip and split your eyelid open. It was truly the most awful split second that felt like it happened in slow motion in my life. You immediately put a hand to your eye and began crying as I scooped you up and raced to the kitchen to get a towel to stop the bleeding. We didn't even stop to put your shoes on as I raced to buckle you into the car, where you had already stopped crying and were applying pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding. I couldn't stop telling you how brave you were. Little did I know, this was just the first of many moments that night that I would be in awe of your toughness. We went straight to Texas Childrens and joined the throngs of people in the waiting room where we were quickly triaged and then slooooowly seen. At around 1:30 in the morning we were finally in a real room and I was given the options for how we could go about getting you stitched up (option 1 - least invasive - a quick squirt of meds to make you a little loopy up your nose, some topical lidocaine to start the numbing with some injections of lidocaine to follow, as needed, with you awake and coherent as they pull a needle and thread through your eyelid VS option 2 - most invasive - ketamine (yes, the horse tranquillizer, though I was assured not a horse dosage) administered via IV and you would be knocked out for the stitching). We went for option 1 and I was prepared to take that on and do what was needed to soothe you only for you to be completely chill the whole time. You calmly talked to the doctor about Pokemon and laid so still you received high praise from all the medical professionals.
You are super creative and funny. While I am quite fond of your name, you tend to adopt a new name and pronounce it to the family about once a week. You have been Cal Numbers, Calm, Super Cal... You create your own Pokemon, and draw pictures of them and teach us each of their unique moves. You believe that puppydog eyes can get you nearly anything you want (which, I mean, as the baby of this family is probably about right), and you absolutely HATE getting into trouble. Truly, on the rare occasion you are reprimanded, I usually end up feeling like I ought to apologize to you, because you are so devastated by any sort of negative feedback, it is a bit pitiful. You are a pretty picky eater, but love fish sticks and chic fila sauce. You are an excellent sleeper, except for being an early riser. You give amazing hugs, wrapping your entire being around the recipient. I love the way you talk with your hands - it is a true reminder that you have Italian in your blood.
I absolutely love you to pieces - we all do. Can't imagine our lives without you.
We saw a rainbow tonight, and it brought you such joy. I hope this year is filled with infinitely more joy - you deserve every single moment.
