F i v e

I got back from my trip to Guatemala just in time to prepare for and celebrate Zoe’s fifth birthday.

Maybe it was the perspective that I gained aboad, or perhaps it’s just that there’s something about F I V E that makes me extra sentimental. I felt the same way when Jack turned five and I took him to ride the ferris wheel at Toys R’ Us in Times Square… He is so big. I remember feeling it with all of my heart.

The fifth year feels like the first big milestone (aside from the other huge milestones; walking, talking, reading, writing, etc.). It means elementary school and backpacks and the first regular meals happening away from our dining room table.

Five years old means that I rarely have help her get dressed or brush her teeth. She is making friends on her own and discovering the magic within self confidence that is earned by doing something that challenges her.

Five is swinging on the monkey bars and even skipping a few without regard to the numerous calluses on the insides of her hands.

She laughs the heartiest and cries the loudest whenever her older brother is involved; The sun in her eyes rises and sets based on his approval.

It is happiness and broken hearts moments apart and heavy thoughts in between.

Five means puppies and kittens and princess dresses all in one sweet little package. It is collecting leopard-print rocks and hiding them in the pocket of her white linen dress.

Five is painted faces even if it costs $20 because mommy the entire universe will crumble on top of us if I don’t get an entire butterfly on my face right now and I say yes because I can’t deny her.

I don’t remember being five years old, but that itself is a glorious part of parenthood: Second chances. New memories. Boundless hope and endless possibilities.

Five is remarkable and insanely beautiful. It was a day that she had anticipated and talked about for at least a year, and it was everything she wanted.

And, ok. Everything I wanted, too.