it's astounding...time is fleeting...
"Why do you keep taking pictures?" he quizzes.
"Because I want to remember this," I respond.
I want to remember how your hair, just like your brother's, remains suspiciously blonde.
How you're the only child I know who doesn't like macaroni and cheese and questions the purpose of butter as an ingredient.
How you talk my ear off whenever we're alone together in the car.
How you accept the fact I'll never understand NFL stats or all things Bakugan, as long as I accept the fact that we'll talk about these things over dinner no less than three nights a week.
How we share a love of questionably good music (ain't that Mr. Mister on the radio?).
How you dance when you think I'm not looking.
How you don't care if I join in when you notice I am.
How you relish carrying on conversations with me in dramatic, over-embellished accents.
How you come in to my bedroom and try to scare me every morning.
How you did scare me.
How I never fail to think "I love this boy," when I see you racing up the sidewalk from school.
How you love to play all sports despite humble beginnings from two athletically clueless parents.
How you'll still hug me and hold my hand and plant kisses on my face without making me beg.
How you feign tiredness just so you can say "I wuv you."
How your soul is old and your heart is soft.
How you willingly accepted me as your sidekick even though my super power - freezing time to keep you young - fails miserably at every attempt. Lucky for you thought, huh, considering your power seems to be making time fly.
How I hope it will be when the day comes when you must come to me, hold my hand, and ask me if I remember.
"So I can remember how we were when you suddenly turned 9," I respond.
Happy birthday, my heart.