This summer you sprouted. Your little head reaches new heights. Your wardrobe is full of new pants. You run faster and jump higher than ever before. Though, in truth, that's mostly from dedicated super hero practice. You're committed. You love those masked crusaders.
You have always been my little walking pulse of love. You're all heart. Every morning as I leave your preschool classroom, you stand on the tippy, tippy tops of your toes to peek out the door window and watch me leave. Your eyes b-a-r-e-l-y reach the glass and every two steps I turn and wave until I reach the exit door and blow you a final kiss. Every day.
It's because of this and so many other love routines we have that I took stark notice of a change this weekend. The story will be told, "on a perfect Fall night, when you were 4 years old, you sprouted wings". You stepped away from Eme and I and played, all by yourself, with a new band of little kids." It happened just like that and has never happened before. You even came inside to find us, only to happily return to your own fun and later announce to Daddy, "I found Mommy and Deeter, they're inside reading a book. I want to play".
...and the boy became a man. :)