You're a few weeks into being a big, bad K4er and the verdict is two grubby thumbs up. Initially you were crushed to find out that none of your K3 buddies were in your K4 class but I assured you there would be plenty of boys in your new class for you to be friends with. You seemed a little unsure but you were still excited to meet your teacher and check out your room the day before school started. Once you saw the oodles and oodles of Legos and magnetic blocks and the smattering of other K4 boys, all was right in your world. We spent about an hour checking everything out, meaning that you and the other boys had an impromptu Lego light sabre battle while Natalie played in the dress-up area. On our way to the car, we stopped by to see your K3 teachers so you could give them both a gigantic hug. They're both ridiculously precious and seemed genuinely excited to see you. And they both oohed and ahhed over how big you'd gotten over the summer. Have you? Did I miss that? I swear you'll probably be 6'3" and I'll still be all, "Oh, are you not a size 2T anymore?"
You wanted me to walk you into class for the first week but after that, you insisted on you walking in yourself. The K4 teachers gently suggested to the parents that eventually (eventually! Not on week 2, punk.) they'd like for all the K4 kiddos to walk into class by themselves, to begin to foster some independence. I nonchalantly mentioned this to you late the first week and you were all "Oh, okay. But definitely not now. I like walking in with you, Momma." Boy, did your tune sure change just 72 hours later. I pulled to the curb, opened up your door, you grabbed your bag, kissed me, kissed Nat, and ran inside. I may or may not have cried a little.
You have becoming fully obsessed with Legos recently. Like, you've liked them for years. You've been obsessed with Duplos for years but Legos mostly annoyed you because they require dexterity that is typically outside the ability of a three- or four-year-old. But a switch got flipped and now all you want to do is play with Legos. You make no fewer than 10 random creations every day. You even wake up early to play with Legos before you eat breakfast. Sure it sounds adorable. But when bedtime comes around and you're going on not-a-full-nights-sleep-because-you-woke-up-early-to-play-Legos, there's a lot of unnecessary drama and tears.
You are already making birthday lists for your sixth, seventh, and eighth birthdays. I think you're taking the age ranges for big Lego sets a bit too literally. But I'll take that over you having a $500 gift list for your fifth birthday.
Side note, you often pronounce "fifth" as "five-th". It's adorable. You're adorable. Life is adorable with you in it, my sweet love.
Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy
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