Yesterday Rollie turned five.
Five. Wow.
Five is a neat age. I'm thinking that it will be nice to have a five-year-old in the house. Five-year-olds go to Kindergarten. They ride bikes. They tie their own shoes. They can invent games using rotten pumpkins and bathroom doors. They can hold semi-intellectual conversations about mediocre song lyrics. And they only occasionally need to corrected for insubordination, talking back, and climbing on their little brother's excer-saucer to reach some off-limits Valentine's Day candy, while their little brother is in said excer-saucer.
