There was no other way to greet five years old than with a wink behind an eye patch.  So, pirate themed and drenched in sunshine we watched him shuck off four years for five in the backyard beside the thirsty garden.


And I don't know how it happened.  How it's been five years since I first held him.  Five years since those blue eyes opened to my face and claimed me as his own.  And I want to remember.  I want to catch the sound of his baby voice before it slips away - his cracking, smoky slur - the way he can't make a T-H sound - the way he growls when he's angry with me.  I want to measure his days in kisses.  Before he's gone.  Before he stops calling me mommy.  I want to slow him down.  I want to park him in that cardboard pirate ship and throw down the anchor.  The bangs he can't see through.  The dirty fingernails.  The way he slips his arms around my waist when no one's looking or wipes his nose on my shirt because he thinks it's funny...

Let's stay here awhile.  Let's linger.  Let's not forget any of it.