Of Beaches and Bar Napkins

It was all fun and games until the baby turned five. Seriously, who does that? Five is the start of the working man. It is the beginning of early rising and late, Scotch-filled nights. It is shoes with laces.

The Scotch is for me.

It is a milestone, this five. It is a big brother reaching across the aisle and pulling his younger one forward. The aisle being between clothing marked with a "T" and that just noted with a number. It has been years since their respective wardrobes could be stocked from within the same store section.  It is as sad as it is convenient.

Five. Boom. There it is. Life has been a beach, and suddenly there is kindergarten, a pending wave looming on the horizon. Suddenly his days will start that downward dilution of responsibility ebbing out the flows of fun, and I will hope that it was enough. I will hope that his days of wine and roses have left him content with his innocence and that he is stocked readily with happiness.

The wine was for me.

My days will be freer. There will no longer be an echo beneath my feet or a thunder rumbling across the kitchen floor. Rather there will be empty spaces with quiet rays of sunlight soothing corners that once danced beneath the beat of a boy and his shadow. 

I will get things done and will no longer complain about losses of time due to the needs and wants of a child's imagination.  I will no longer have to set work aside at random hours of the day for such things as books and somersaults.  I will be able to start those projects that I thought I always wanted, and I will convince myself that they are worth finishing. This is where I open the door to opportunity.

Or I could just let it knock a little longer.  Where's the fire?

Five. It stirs the soul and shakes like a martini. It is dirty. It is dry. To his credit, he is taking it pretty well. From a distance you can't even see the wrinkles between his dimples and their smile. His hair is golden where mine grows gray, and his gaze is forever forward. What got him here is just that. Milestones are best for stepping on, and his tiny hand in mine holds every shade of balance. I am a walk interrupted by bits of sprint. He is leaps and bounds, and shoes too big for baby steps.

A martini sounds good right now.