It seems like every time I blink, the boys either 1) get bigger or 2) do something new. Or both. At the same time.
William has two loose teeth right now. (Note to self: make sure Tooth Fairy has a couple of dollar bills on hand.) He has sworn off apples in his lunchbox because they hurt his teeth. I'm torn between wanting them to just come out already and stop doing that stomach-flipping wiggle thing, and doing the whole cliched my-baby-is-growing-up-too-fast routine. He hasn't lost a tooth since last fall, when he lost his first two. I guess it's time.*
William is also reading. Like, real reading. Not just a few words but able to read along in the hymn book at church. (Well, except for the rather large number of SAT words that you get in lots of Presbyterian hymns.) I'm eagerly looking forward to the day when I can have him read recipes and directions to me when I attempt to do something without, er, reading them myself.
He is participating in the Accelerated Reader program at his school, and he's speeding his way through books like "Dino-Soccer" and "Henry and Mudge and the Big Test" and "The Bully from the Black Lagoon." As his reading improves, he seems to enjoy reading more. Which makes total sense to me. The books get better and the stories get more interesting as they get harder. I wouldn't want to read boring old simple books about cats sitting on mats, either. There's never any character development. I just started reading "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" to him at bedtime, and I'm actually starting to worry that he might notice when I might not read every single word. Ahem. (J.K. Rowling could have edited down some parts here and there. Just sayin.')
However, even his reading skills couldn't help him with one particular question on his homework the other night. William came storming over to me and threw his homework packet at me. "What is this VCR?" he demanded angrily. "Veekayare? VCR? What is this??"
I retrieved the sheaf of papers and looked for the offending question. It read, "Can a frog use a VCR?"
Well, my six-year-old wasn't even alive the last time we had a VCR in active use in our house. So either the frog would need to be well-versed in the use of outdated technology or the teacher might need to rethink the vintage of the homework pages that she's giving out.
(*Editorial Note: As soon as I finished writing this, William called in here to me and asked if he could have a snack. One of his loose teeth fell out while he was walking out of the kitchen with a Go-Gurt. We just rinsed the tooth off and stuck it in a baggie so it won't get lost. William reports that he doesn't feel like writing a note to the Tooth Fairy this time. "She'll still give me money," he said confidently. Good grief.)
So then we have the little fellow.
Andrew definitely has a sense of mischief about him. The other day, he tried to convince me that David was Mommy and that I was Daddy. He knew we weren't buying, but he was tickled that we were so amused by him.
This morning, I walked into Andrew's room to get him out of his crib. He handed me one of the two binkies that we still let him have in the crib at night. He watched me put them in the top drawer of his dresser. Then he said, "Andrew take binky to school?"
I laughed and said, "No, you can't take a binky to school, silly."
And with a gleam in his eyes, he said, "Graci has binky at school."
The little rascal, trying to persuade me! Wonder what he would have said if I'd responded, "Well, if Graci jumped off a bridge, would you jump off, too?"
He's taller than ever, too. I buttoned him into a darling little outfit--size 3, so not even something old--for church yesterday, and his long legs just hung out from the shorts. When I pick him up, I almost always let out an involuntary "Ooof."
And every time I turn around, Andrew has managed to get something down from a countertop or shelf that I truly didn't think he could reach. He walked up to me one morning last week, casually munching a plum. "Where did you get that?" I asked, and then realized that I had left a batch of unwashed plums sitting in the middle of the kitchen island. Sigh. Hope they weren't covered in too many pesticides and bacteria.
Between his long legs and his even longer sentences, I am slowly coming to terms with the reality that my baby isn't really a baby anymore. He's a strong-willed, hilarious, loving, occasionally exhausting boy. A lot like his big brother in that regard.
But I love them both more than ever.