five.

five-year boy. five-year parents.


the other day i was dropping eaves as the boys conversed about "being a kid." if they endure the hardships of childhood, they decided, their great prize is becoming a grownup. and grownups are exempt from all forms of drudgery.

apparently we get to stay up all night. lucky us.

do butterflies fly around thinking, "i remember when i was a caterpillar and all i had to do was eat people's gardens all day. this flying is hard work. plus i could fit into a size 0 cocoon back then. now look at me!"

right before i took this last shot i asked him, "what do five-year-olds think about?"

"cool stuff."

i believe him.

we're all told that "time moves much more quickly for an adult than a child," but is anyone else as unnerved as i am to discover, first hand, the truth of this? how does that even work? a day's a day, right?

our oldest is five? no, he can't be.