And Then, He Turned Six

The night before my sixth birthday, I stood barefoot on our front porch in my nightie as the sun began its descent. “Everything will change tomorrow,” I thought. “You’re not one of the little kids anymore. Six means being a big kid.”

I suppose that in many ways, I was right. Six, after all, brought first grade, walking to school by myself (you could see the school from our porch but, still), a Brownie troop, and quizzes at school. It meant riding my bike on the Big Hill at school with Suzy the neighbor, and her telling me about the Very Most Bad Word Ever. I didn’t believe her until I later confirmed this important fact with my dad. SORRY DAD.

Sorry for asking you about the Very Most Bad Word Ever and sorry for that other time, two years later in third grade when I asked you if a blow job meant kissing a penis.

Anyway. This isn’t a post about penises or Very Bad Words. This is a post about turning six, and being thankful for adventure, bravery, roller coasters, family and travel.

Because friends, last week, it happened. My not-so-teeny-tiny-baby-anymore turned six. And while I’m completely and utterly unready for six and completely and utterly unready for accepting the fact that my son turning six means that it’s been six years since I met him, I’m sort of in awe of what six looks like.

Six here sounds like for-real sentences that I wondered whether we’d ever have, and him getting that it’s his birthday.

Six is my little boy being less afraid of the roller coaster than I am. The one that gets up to 70mph and has three upside-down loops.

Six is Tucker laughing on the water ride while his big brother looks terrified behind him.

Six was making a birthday bag, and waiting for weeks to open presents. It was laughter and collecting fireflies in the yard, and letting them go when he learned that if he put them in a jar, they’d die.

Six was lighting fireworks in Tennessee and Nana and PaPaw’s farm, and while they weren’t as spectacular as the ones at the beach, they were ours and ended just in time for the rain. That we didn’t have to fight crowds and traffic to get sleepily home, because we were already there.

Thankful.

It was going to a waterpark and being tall enough to go down the big slide.

It was going to Dollywood, and watching the Bazillion Bubbles Show, and walking around with soaked underpants all day because we went on the water ride first. Twice. Also if you have a chance to see the Bazillion Bubbles Show, go. It was incredible.
      

It was expected thunderstorms that didn’t happen which meant walking right by signs that read “Only 45 minutes from here!” and pulling up to the end of the ride and being asked whether we’d like to go again, because nobody was waiting.

It was magical and perfect and six.

It was me, realizing that my baby is still a baby when he asks me to never leave his bed at night, my hand clenched in his.

It has been me, realizing that for the first time, I sometimes walk in front of him, okay that he’s not in my view. Six.

It’s been him, opening the door on his own, and having new opinions, and wishes and dreams, separate from mine, but also him coming into my room, in the morning, and giving me his favorite stuffed animal so that he can go downstairs, by himself. Six.

But still telling me that he’s going downstairs, and bringing me his animal, and patting me on the shoulder. Him, asking me to “stay forever” before asking me to leave, late at night.

Six. This is six.

***

This has been a thankful post.

****

PS thanks to Ivy for being a total weeniebutt, allowing the rest of us to bask in our minionism of weeniebutt worship.

Join the Ten Things of Thankful Facebook Group