She's five.
Five is kinda awesome.
Beatrice asks me where Oklahoma is on the map. She identifies birds and beaver lodges and planets. She loves soft rag-dolls and dresses up all her dolls and animals. She tells me, I know, I know, if I go on too long. She won't go to a movie in a movie theater until she is seven. She's still so, so sensitive. She's a Daddy's Girl, big time. She can ice skate and ride a bike with training wheels and drop in on a bowl with her dad. She can pump on the swings if you make her. She likes to play dress-up and put on plays and dance. I have to stop listening to news radio in the car because it makes her sad. She listens to every song lyric and asks me about them. She can't really stand up for herself against her younger sister. She misses the city and her friends there but loves her new home too. She tells me she loves both. So do I. She likes to be in my photos (right now). She is absolutely beautiful, since the day she was born, inside and out. Her kindness is amazing. She is a better person than me. That makes me proud.
Five feels like a big one. The year school starts. The bus. Swim lessons and ballet. She likes the bigger kid shows on PBS now (i.e., Ruff Ruffman and Electric Company). She's very interested in who is a teenager and what do teenagers do. Oye. But I see that so much of my control will be gone once she's out there, and every year after that. It's like stepping off a cliff, really. But I have a parachute and she has a net, and falling can be fun. Really, it can.
The night before her birthday, while putting away Christmas decorations in the dining room, I overheard Bea tell Jo, "I'm going to be FIVE tomorrow, Josie! Can you believe it?!?"
Yes. We all can. It's wonderful.
