Five years.

For those of you who have been following along for awhile, I need to tell you something incredible that happened this month. Jack turned five years old. FIVE. YEARS. OLD. I am officially the mama of a five year old. I'm feeling quite proud.

Jack, you have grown so much this past year. In shoe and shirt sizes, yes. But also in your mind and in your heart. You have transformed from a pant-leg hugging, bashful soul into a social butterfly who will walk right up to a new person, look them straight in the eye with a smile, and say, "Hi, I'm Jack!"

That's huge. Not even I can do that. And I'm 37.

You are gentle and thoughtful and helpful with Charlie, your little brother. You often introduce him to others by simply saying, "This is my baby." Yes. Just as much as ours, he is yours. And you his.

You have become intensely inquisitive, asking me questions I need to open a dictionary to answer. Being shrouded in the throes of mamahood and babyhood these past few years, I thank you for getting my mind back up on its feet. I've been in a fog. You are making me think again. It's a good thing.

One of my favorite changes in you during the past year? Your facial expressions. Coming from a family of many deaf people (hereditary, on my side), you have effortlessly learned the art of communication through animation. In your hands, in your feet, in your face. You are expressing yourself visually. And it's all quite convincing. You can convey emotions ranging from satisfied to terrified just with a tiny squint or widening of your big blue eyes.

(Oh, and let's not forget that this year Jack learned to cross his eyes. Always used to express excitement. Silly excited. Makes me think we should all cross our eyes when we're excited. Try it sometime. Really. It will take your excitement to a whole new level.)

This year I put together a special birthday party for you, with art as the theme:

The invitation.

There was quite a bit of party preparation on my part: 

Testing of projects, collecting of materials . . .

Calling of other mamas to make sure their kids could come.

And then party day came. 

There was painting of shirts . . .

Collaging of frames . . .

Painting of paper (a keepsake for Jack) . . .

Tracing of bodies . . .

And decorating of cupcakes, too.

I think some people wondered why I went to all the trouble. I mean, I worked on your party for a month. It was a two-hour long party. And I worked on it for a MONTH. Why? Why, mama, why?

I'll tell them why, Jacky. Because you turned FIVE. Because you are wonderful. Because I want you to always remember what it was like to be five. I hope you will always remember.

I have a feeling you will never forget.

Mornings with Mama: Fort Building

Okay, I admit it. Sometimes, I wish I had a daughter. Yesterday I watched as my neighbor helped her daughter sew her first skirt. It was delightful.

Sometimes, I wish that was in my future.

It's not in my future. I have two boys. And a husband who, well, would be against his boys wearing skirts. Sewing them, maybe. But wearing them? Unlikely. And there's certainly no fun in making and not wearing.

I'm not giving up, of course--there's lots we can sew, and have sewn, and plan to sew, me and the boys. And with a mama like me (stay-at-home feminist/Women's Studies graduate/quilt lover-maker-designer/make-something-out-of-nothing soul) you can bet my boys will be in touch with their feminine side. (Meaning their sewing side.)

So I'll continue to encourage an interest in sewing, yes. That's where I can be creative, imaginative, and inspired; maybe my boys can reach that through sewing one day, too. But I'm assured that you don't need a needle and thread--and you certainly don't have to be a girl--to create, imagine, and inspire. My biggest little one did just that this morning.

Need bricks and mortar to build a fort? Malarkey. All you need is a nursing pillow, some painted, half-painted, and unpainted blocks, and selected items from your treasure bowl (on the left).

The fort's fleet.

Even the ghastliest winged bat-thingy monster enjoys a little color--preferably in the form of batik scraps left over from a Craftfail-style sewing project.

Hands eagerly pile on a flurry of treasure-bowl contents (including leaves from a front-yard bush).

Ah, I finally understand why he insists on saving the bothersome tags we cut out of his shirts.

Creativity, imagination, inspiration. It's all here. No sewing required.