Big

It's the time of the year for Bigness. Becoming Big, talking about being Big, complaining bitterly about being Big...

Oh, that last one? Yes, that's a little unusual isn't it.

The Taller Girl became Big a couple of weeks ago. Nine, to be precise. (that's half way to an adult! gah! How did that happen and how do I stop it! But I digress...) She was thrilled. She had a big party, and there were snakes (yes, snakes) and a pinata and everyone had a wonderful time.

The Smaller Girl is going to be Big in a couple of weeks. She'll be seven. She was wild about giving out party invites, and dressed up as a postman to do so. I'm saving up for her the news that it's going to be legal for her to sit in the front seat, because if I tell her ahead of time I'll never hear the end of it (front seat! front seat! How many days to my birthday. How many HOURS is that?)

A week after that, the Small Boy will be Big. He'll be five. And he Does Not Want.

Four is his number. Four is a GOOD number. Five is not a good number. He's not going to be five, he's going to stay four. He's also never going to have to stop wearing his blue boots and switch to the next-size-up blue boots, because he's certainly not getting any bigger. Also they are inferior because they have Bob the Builder on them rather than a smudged cracked lump that used to be a Banana in Pyjamas about a million years ago. Also they are inferior because they are new, and new is BAD.

The triangle mirror at the museum has been behaving very suspiciously recently as well. It's started shrinking so that he can no longer quite stand up in it, but has to tip his head over a little. This is definitely nothing to do with him getting any bigger, because he's not ever going to get bigger, he's going to stay four FOREVER!

You can repeat a year of school. Sadly, you can't repeat a year of childhood. Although I'm sure he'd love to.