Being five means you get to wear two pairs of gloves when you want to. It means french toast tastes better when cut into 24 bite sized pieces. It means being both in love and a bit afraid of a 10 pound dog.
Being five means you can ask to marry that 10 pound dog, “even though the dog is a girl”, and even though you are so much taller. Those are the only obstacles to marrying a dog…when you are five.
Being five means repeating “I’m gonna shake my butt”…while shaking your butt…is hysterical. It is even funnier when you can get an 84-year-old woman to shake her butt and chant with you. Being five means singing Christmas songs at the top of your lungs…in late January.
Being five means it’s okay to be really really excited about your birthday months ahead of time. You can ask for specific gifts and you can declare you want a banner saying happy birthday…in a home other than your own. Being five means you can invite your babysitter to your party and also remind her to go to your house right after school to help clean up the outside toys before the snow storm.
Being five in suburbia means public buses are mysterious, and the Metro Card on the bus sign is coveted. Being five means walking backwards is a blast and jumping off low walls is “so dangerous”…so dangerous that a hug is in order once you land safely. Being five means you give and get lots of hugs.
Being with a five year old is magical.
I hope my kids remember the every day joy of being five. When jumping into my arms was the safest place in the world. When building, crafting, baking, playing, reading, and swinging was their job and night time giggles filled our souls.
As my daughter listens to our banter and watches us play before running out the door to work, I hope she remembers I did the same for her…when she was five.