So tomorrow's my son's birthday.

He is my youngest child, and he's going to be five.

For some reason this feels like an even bigger milestone for me than that he'll start kindergarten just after Labor Day. Part of it is that five years old is Five. Years. Old. It's also been a very tumultuous five years, and things are settling down. So maybe it has as much to do with me as it does with him.

In any case, we're having cake today and presents tomorrow and he's a very happy and excited boy. This is a neat age, when they're so big and still little at the same time, learning to read and write and take responsibility for themselves and yet experience pure joy at the small rituals in life.

I'm really proud of him. He's smart and he's funny and he's stubborn. He's one of the most charming little boys I've ever met. He's a morning person, and if he didn't look like me I'd wonder if they switched babies on me because I *so* am not one. He's still little enough that he loves to cuddle, but when he has a bad dream he wants to be tucked back into his own bed. He hates wearing socks. He was reading price tags to me in the store a couple of days ago and telling me what he thought was too expensive. He invited all of his friends to come eat cake with him today. He even called a friend of mine he's especially fond of and asked him to come, too. He knows how to use my phone because he's obsessed with Angry Birds and decided to explore it one day. He wanted a bike for his birthday, and he's getting one, and he's going to be so thrilled. I can't wait to see his face when he sees it.

He's my son, and I love him beyond words.

Happy Birthday, kiddo.