•way-no the pooh•

One of the reasons I keep "tot blog" (to the right of this post), is to catch hold of a few grains of Penn's childhood before they disappear forever into the giant beach of his life. And to celebrate the freedom of language kids have. These days, he's coming up with more and more adult-flavored clips... and while those are fabulous, I love when his thoughts are delivered in small-child speak. He still refers to Way-No the Pooh. He has recently dubbed those sugar-coated marshmallow chicks that pop up in drug stores around Easter time, "dumplings." He has recently begun to refer, unabashedly, to his "crotus" (scrotum).

My heart aches for the time when I'm just looking back on these posts. When he's a teenager and talking about kissing Tatum on the mouth in an entirely different way (and perhaps not even to me). When he's a man and talking about how cold-brewed coffee imparts the truest flavor. When he's a writer and explaining how important his community of fellow artists. Or when he's an engineer and asking me about his grandfather's greatest inventions.

Of course I want this now to last forever. Five-year-old Penn, with his enthusiasm for skiing and aptitude for games that are slightly beyond him (Fluxx, or chess). Who is learning to climb trees and collect pine-pitch to help start the camp-fires of our future. Who is pedaling furiously and leaning into his training wheels and arguing fiercely about wearing crocs instead of sensible protective shoes. Who is--"Mommy, look! Come quickly!" He has spilled soap on the concrete out back. A cluster of bubbles is moving slowly east. "It's a flower." And it is. xox

First-base stance.