Is it true that you are five already? And is it possible that you are still mine?
You had a beautiful year digging in the dirt and chasing snakes and turtles and frogs. Out in the yard you would run and dig. Scraped knee, tick bit, dirty charcoal face. Digging worms in puddles. Watching tadpoles.
You learned to ride your bike! At age four! And you would ride it up the little hill, and down! You had dreams about pirates. You admired the moon. You walked with me and dwelt with me and listened to the stories I read and attacked your dad when he came home and ate lots of German pancakes and were the best son a mother could wish for.
I love you with unearthly love. You are a boy growing in wisdom. Conscientious. Sweet. Surprising. God is watching you, putting His word into you. You are a man of God.
Happy birthday, little racer!