Dear Joey,

You are five. Five. As in years old. Gah, saying it out loud kills me. You are that kid. You know the one that you love so much you want to squeeze him to death but at the same time you realize he might be trying to kill you. Yep, that's you.

I adore you. I really do, you are my sweet face, my baby and my shit-wrecker all wrapped into one gigantic force to be reckoned with. You are so big and strong and you remind me more of your Dad each day. You are also so, so difficult. Your personality is demanding and you do everything 110%. I wonder if you actually hear me when I am screaming at you for the 10 millionth time each day.

I really think God gave you to me to teach me how to be more patient and also to remind me that parenting a head-strong boy like you is hard-work.

Some of the greatest things about you are the hardest to deal with. You have no filter and although your Dad and I really get a kick out of some of the hysterical things you say, we have also both been extremely embarrassed by the random things you spew out whenever you feel the mood strike.

No matter how hard some of our days together might be, you still have the tendency to crawl in bed with me and snuggle up. You lay so close to me, touching me at all times and even though I want nothing more than to sleep untouched, I cling to those moments. I know they will be over all too soon. I am not quite ready for you to be an actual big kid yet. I still want my baby around.

You are smart, athletic and one of your favorite things to do is color. You are hug into sports and love playing hockey, flag football and swimming. You start baseball next week and I panic at the thought of you and a bat, but you are super excited to start playing. You are a hard-worker and always try hard at everything you do. You are not a quitter, instead you are always determined to be good at whatever you put your mind to. I could not be more proud of you.

I Hope this year brings you all you dreamed and that you have the greatest birthday yet. You may be my big guy, but you are also always going to be my baby.

I love you to the moon and back,

My Joey

My youngest son is well, let's just say, special. I have talked before about the lovely things he says here.  He just says whatever he is thinking. He has no filter and doesn't understand the concept of things being rude or what "private family" things means. Once he starts, there is little you can do to stop him.

He brings a whole new meaning to the phrase kids say the darnedest things. 

I head up to bed last week around midnight and within a few minutes my bedroom door creaks open and Joey comes stumbling in. I instantly go through the checklist of things that might bring him in. Do you feel sick? Did you pee your bed? Are you wheezy? Did you have a bad dream? It is mostly, always, one of these things prompting the visit.

This night he said he couldn't sleep. Since Jason was still downstairs watching TV I told him he could climb in to his Dad's spot in the bed and snuggle until Jay came up.

Just when I start to lull off to sleep this conversation takes place.

Mom, I saw this medicine on TV that you can take to help you get pregnant. It can even help you have two babies, which means you could have a baby brother and a baby sister growing in your belly at the same time.

What? Honey, there is no medicine to give Mom's babies. I already told you, bud, we aren't going to have a baby brother or sister.

I really want a baby brother and sister, Mom.

Why don't you snuggle up with me and let's get some sleep?

*He scooches over closer to me and snuggles up. I still can't believe he is talking to me about getting pregnant.*

I don't know what I am going to do when you are too big to snuggle with me.

I will always snuggle you mom. Although this is another reason you should take that medicine and have another baby.

Touche, child, touche. Also, I am pretty sure we are done taking that medicine around these parts.

It was only a day or two later that I overhear him talking to an HVAC guy we had in the house. I was carrying groceries in so I was going in and out of the house. On one of my trips in, I hear this....

I clog to toilet.

Oh no, I hope you don't put toys and stuff in the toilet. That's not good.

No! I don't put toys in the toilet, I clog it with my huge poops. My mom says I poop like my dad! 

He was so proud to be telling the guy this that as I was dropping dead from embarrassment in the kitchen, I just couldn't bust in and ruin his proud moment. The kid works hard for those poops, after all.

Needless to say, we have been talking alot about what we say to strangers and what is considered private family talk. I also asked him to never talk to me about getting pregnant again. It creeped me out and I clearly need to start paying closer attention to the day time TV he is watching. He'll be asking me about ovulating next.