This is the same boy who was doing the pee dance when he got off the school bus today. Though he ran upstairs to the bathroom as soon as we got home, he came downstairs in wet shorts and tried to pretend they'd gotten wet from the rain.
Such are the contradictions of being 5 years old.
Every day, he does something that makes me swell with amazement and pride, such as pulling out his magnetic letters and -- with a little help from me -- sounding out a simple sentence, "A bag was plastic." And yet, he may burst into tears at the prospect of not drinking milk just before going to bed. He runs wild with his good buddy so that his mom and I have to practically tear them apart when it's time to end a play date.
And now that KFP's lesson is over, as his teacher writes down the pieces to practice for next week, he has dashed to the other side of the room to run a toy car up and down in his little wooden garage.
I can't pretend to be surprised: me, the person who has a storage container nicknamed "The Box of Fun," consisting of all of the silly hats, noise makers and other plastic doodads I've acquired since college. In fact, I would say that a healthy number of my friends (not to mention my husband) have lived a prolonged second childhood of sorts.
Although it can be frustrating to have to say things like, "Stop singing while spinning around with those magnetic letters. We have to get going," I'm honestly in no hurry for him to grow out of this.