He's SIX

He's really really six.  Our littlest boy.  The one we didn't think we would have.  The one who's grandmother prayed and prayed and prayed would come.  The one who turned me into the mother I was really created to be. The one who has bumps and bruises with no known origin and it's okay.  The one who watches rated PG movies long before his brothers ever did.  The one who dared to say butt just because he wanted to see our reaction.  The one who has taught me that any reaction other than love and grace is the wrong one.
I cannot believe he's six.

So full of life and love.  So full of laughter and tears.  So full of mischief and naughtiness, yet oddly such a rule follower.

I haven't blogged in a long time and I'm not sure when the next time will be.  But something made me think that there are things I want to remember about our life and if I don't journal them, they will be long forgotten like yesterday's grocery list.

I want to remember those blonde curls that I hated to cut.

I want to remember the looks on his brother's faces as they laid eyes on him the first time.

I want to remember the day he told Graham to, "get his fat butt into the bathtub".

I want to remember the day he asked me "mom, what is a crap?"  And I had to tell him. And tell him to please never say that word.

I want to remember that a week later he said, "oh crap" and when we reacted to it he cried and cried and said, "I meant to say crab.  I really wanted to say crab".

I want to remember what he said when his soccer coach asked him what his favorite thing to do was, "wrestle with my brothers".

I want to remember how he looked dressed as a seal for the 45th annual kindergarten circus.

I want to remember laying with him in his bed because, "somebody needs to lay with me".

I want to remember that his sixth birthday was a spontaneous, thrown together collection of sweet friends and happy meals and he didn't even care that there weren't homemade invitations.

I want to remember that even though he is being raised in metal bleachers during some sort of sporting event of one of his brothers, that it doesn't matter where we are as long as we are all five together.

Oh, sweet Lord, help me to never forget the littlest of blessings while raising these boys.  And help me to find the funny in every day instead of insisting on the proper.  Who needs proper?