You are five.
You brim with creativity. You draw pictures of mommy, daddy, and “see, that’s a giant hiding behind a tree.” You have an imaginary best friend named 26th Ave. We take him everywhere – school, the museum, the symphony, on hikes. You adore playing with little Elsa and Anna dolls, and they climb mountains and ride on tigers and play soccer and go to kindergarten where Dora teaches them Spanish.
You are precise. Your favorite color is blue. Your second favorite color is green. Your third favorite color is red. Your fourth favorite color is purple. Always in that order since you turned four. You correct me when I mis-read something in one of your books. You wanted to be a plesiosaur for Halloween last year, but you agreed to be a pterosaur when I came up short in the costume department. Everyone asked if you were a pterodactyl and you corrected them. (Technically this is a pteranodon costume but you don’t watch Dinosaur Train.)
You memorize everything. Books, lyrics, episodes of shows, movies, street names, how to spell your friends’ names. You can drop the perfect quote into conversation. Once someone farted (wasn’t me, cough cough) and you quipped, “Was that a herd of elephants? Or a stampede of wild horses?” It was a Cat in the Hat quote, impeccably timed.
You are hilarious. You’ve learned what makes us laugh and you exploit it. You have perfected jokes about Donald Trump’s tiny hands and all the things he cannot do with them. The other day, your doll gave a speech about how she wanted to get married in Russia but couldn’t because a cannon shot them in the eye. Did I mention creativity?
(Unprompted reenactment of a scene from the movie Home while playing in my car.)
You are enthusiastic. You yell “mommy! mommy! mommy! mommy!” every time I pick you up from school (the other parents always tell me they are jealous). You love to make sure daddy and I see everything that happens to be one of our favorite colors. You love to point out the moon, fireworks, and places we’ve been (you have a grasp of geography better than most adults).
You are musical. You request classical music in the car and The Ramones and Run DMC for dance parties. You reenact scenes from Frozen with singing and perfect choreography.
You are empathetic. You are instantly concerned when someone is crying. You want to know how everyone is feeling and why. You are thoughtful – once politely asking me, “How is your foot feeling today, mommy? Well, I was wondering if it might feel good enough to play chase with me after dinner?”
You are loved. So loved.