Last week, during Spring Break, Tucker turned five, and what a glorious transition it has been. He's still struggling with his temper and wanting to make all his own decisions, but it's getting better.
He was pretty exhausted after 5 days of non-stop gogogo with our friends the Croteaus and us. I kept him home on Friday from the activities so he didn't fall asleep during his own birthday party. So instead of being cultured like his big brother, he did this:
He said, "Mom, I'm going to draw a picture of all of us." As he drew, he explained that he and Daddy and Drew would be blue. Because they are boys. I would be pink, because I am not a boy, and Connor (short falter in his sentence) would be...green. Granted, it's not the greatest representation, and I'm not sure which one of the boys he drew to look like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family. But I like it.
When he was done he brought it to me and I told him how good it looked and that I could tell he worked hard on it. He said, "Yeah. You have to remember to take it with me when I go to the hospital."
Hm. Why are you going to the hospital?
"When I die, Mommy. I need it to come with me so that I can show it to Connor."
Well, knock me over with a feather. I stopped washing dishes (see, Anne, even I did some dishes!!), dried my hands, and went over to him, explaining that we'd have to keep it safe for a long time because he wasn't supposed to die until he'd lived a good, long, exciting life. He seemed fine with that. I took a picture of the drawing in case it got lost/erased/etc, but I also knew that he was really growing up.
I hate that my children have to grow up doing this. I hate that I have to, but I really, especially hate that they do. As they grow up, they'll be asked about their family, and I hope they never stop answering about both of their brothers. One day, the person asking will be special, and I hope they know that being a brother to Connor, for 4 years or 7, made each of my boys really, honestly special people too.