There is something about your youngest child turning 6 that signifies the end of an era. I think I felt this way about him turning 5, too, but last February he wasn't even entering kindergarten for another six months, so I could somewhat fool myself by calling him a preschooler, at the time.
Now, he's truly a big boy. He can get his own snowsuit on, ride a bike, make a sandwich, take out the trash, sign himself onto Lego.com...and even has begun reading and writing! I just can't call him my baby anymore. Out loud, at least.
This is one of my favorite pictures of our son. There is a quiet focus about him when he's at rest, gearing up for some period of intense movement. He has so much inner energy, but it's not uncontrolled. He's a force.
His vitality is such a blessing, especially if you know his history: He nearly died at 5 weeks of age, of severe pneumonia caused by RSV. I recently opened a box and immediately found tears springing to my eyes at the sight of his nebulizer, which we had to use so much for that first year. They were tears of rejoicing, though--at the realization that we haven't needed it since he was two, despite the warnings that he might have respiratory issues for years, even life!
Thank you, Lord, for the gift of this, our son---your child--and his life, his spunkiness, his humor, his abilities, his energy. Grant us wisdom, love, discipline and energy to parent him...in the particular way that he should go. Bless him, Lord, as you have blessed us--with him.
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