When we bought this house, Jack Henry was 2 1/2.
For reference, he looked and sounded like this a couple of months after we moved in.
Be still my heart.
As we grew accustomed to our new routes from our house to and from Target, Lowes, the grocery, etc., it became apparent that we would be using one route particularly often. And on this route is a house with a mailbox that gets one’s attention…Jack Henry immediately named it “the truck mailbox” and every.single.time. we went that way, he hollered out “truck mailbox!” as we passed by.
For a while, if he missed spotting it, he’d be upset that he didn’t see it. This was important stuff to a 2 year old. And slightly annoying to his brothers.
Over the years, of course, there’s been much less spotting of the truck mailbox as we drive down this road. Every once in a while, he’ll still call it out, but it’s usually in a joking manner now.
Yesterday, as just he and I headed home from the boys’ ballpark for the 1300th time this summer (I exaggerate only slightly), he pointed out the mailbox and then said, “Really, I’m getting too old for that.”
I said something to the effect of, “Aww, really? I don’t think you’ll ever be too old to remember how much you loved it when you were little.”
He replied, “Sometimes, when we pass it, I’ll still say ‘truck mailbox!’ just for your memories, ok?”
And then, when we got home, he told me he was drawing me a picture. He spent probably 30 minutes working on it, and then he presented it to me as a gift.
It’s our whole family (plus his stuffed dog, Waffle, of course) in the minivan, driving past the truck mailbox, with him calling it out. “So you won’t forget,” he told me.
Sending this kiddo to full-day kindergarten tomorrow. Lump in my throat all day today.