Ewan doesn't mind sharing his birthday with Thanksgiving.
Last year he dressed up like the Grim Reaper for a bit and insisted on a tombstone birthday cake. This year he wanted the "REAL Star Wars," as opposed to the new Clone Wars Star Wars, like the cartoon series.
Ewan is still baby-chubby and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't pinch his giant rosy squirrel cheeks. While Liam transitions to his friends, over-using the word "dude," and now shies away from holding my hand in public, Ewan doesn't mind. He still wakes up in the morning, climbs up on his bathroom stool, and lets me comb his way however I want. He doesn't care that I still pick out his clothes; he still will snuggle up to me on the sofa when we watch movies. Whenever I'm in the kitchen and clang a pot or rattle a dish, no matter where he is in the house, I'll hear his thunderous fat feet hit the floor running; he climbs down the stairs, runs to the pantry for his little apron, and rushes to the counter to see what's cooking or baking. He's fascinated with making food, even if he's the pickiest eater I know.
His favorite foods are still macaroni and cheese and pita and hummus.
He loves his "I Spy" books and Lego Indiana Jones on his Nintendo DS. He can print his name and knows all the long and short sounds of his vowels. He's eager to read "bigger kid books," eager to emulate his big brother in school work. He's over (mostly) his George Carlin-curmudgeonly shy period and now plays with the kids in his playgroups instead of sitting in a corner scowling at them from behind a book, ruminating at how he doesn't need friends. He's still adorably cantankerous at times, though, and has wandered into that period in his young life where he doesn't understand the concept of TMI.
While in the doctor's waiting room, Liam was carrying on a conversation with the receptionist. A lull in the conversation seemed Ewan's only chance to get in a word edgewise so he contributed the only thing he could think of to say at the moment: "My brother's butt stinks sometimes!" Liam and I both nearly melted into the floor while Ewan cackled with laughter. It was hard not to laugh with him, even for Liam.
He wakes me up every morning (except the mornings I go into the station before the sun rises) by putting his face centimeters from mine and whispering: "Good morning, mama."
He had the most beautiful chocolate brown eyes I've ever seen.
He will stop whatever it is he's doing to help his brother, his father, or me.
I'm so proud of the young man he's becoming.
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