Yesterday I took my 4-year old to kindergarten preview day, where he rolled a dice to see how many fish erasers to feed the plastic shark, laced plastic beads onto pipe cleaner, and played kitchen with his BFF. At the end of the hour, he asked if we could go to recess. If they let him in (darn late fall birthdays), I think he’s more than ready to start kindergarten in the fall. But despite this readiness, he’s still very much my baby, and still says the most adorable wrong things: he calls construction sites “instruction sites” and all calendars “advent calendars.” His older brother yells at him, “that’s NOT an advent calendar!” but I never correct him. It’s hilarious and undeniably cute.
“Mommy, I’m doing my exercises,” he told me earlier this week, as he jumped from one couch to the ottoman and then to another couch. I asked him to stop jumping on the furniture. “But I have so much energy!” Almost daily he asks to go to “Old McDonald’s.”
He calls all meals breakfast, can’t sleep without a warmed up rice heating pad, and all team sports that involve balls are basketball. The Blazers and Seahawks play the same sport, and he’s not taking swimming lessons until he’s 10. He’s memorized 15 digits of Pi, almost all of the words to the new Lego movie soundtrack, and picked out Doc McStuffins and Minnie Mouse pullups. He has a lot of opinions, his current favorite books is a kids’ biography of JFK, and he loves tackling his older brother.
We call him “Boss Baby.”