Yesterday was Squish’s birthday. He’s 4 now, and so excited about it. (Little does he know the plans we have to exploit that: “Four-year-olds don’t need help getting their shoes on. Four-year-olds wipe their own bums. Four-year-olds eat green things.”)
It was fun to let him be in charge of the day. He wanted to go for a run. Which means he wanted me to push him in the stroller. And Little Miss, of course. I didn’t mind a bit. How could I, when the sky is so blue, the leaves are so red and orange and yellow, the air so light and . . . airy?
So we went. Happy Birthday to Squish!
He’s been wanting to go running a lot lately, actually. And not always just to ride. Sometimes he runs, too. Not too far and not too fast, but he tries. He tries to run far and fast, but he also tries my patience. Because sometimes I just want to get to where I’m going as quickly as I can. You know? And he’s more of a “run 10 yards and then stop to play on the bicycle rack” kind of runner. He hasn’t yet developed the razor sharp focus necessary to get from one end of a block to another. So when he’s determined to “run” and I’m ready to pick him up and sit his little booty back in the stroller, I try to compromise, and I sing a song instead.
It’s a little ditty I made up, inspired by a tune from Cinderella, and it goes something like this:
You can do it, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it. There’s really nothing to it. You really can do it.
(I should write songs for a living, I know.)
And then I cheer and call his name and tell him he’s looking good and not to give up. It usually gets him halfway down a block, if I’m lucky. But he loves it and it’s fun.
And it’s only fair that if I insist he cheer me on, I cheer him on as well. And I will. I will cheer him on so much this year. Every time he “needs help” getting his shoes on, or he can’t eat dinner, or he “can’t pronounce” that word he’s reading . . . I’ll be there with a song and a cheer.
Happy Birthday Squish!