W is for William

I doubt in this short blog entry I can convey to you the awesomeness that embodies my son, William.  In many ways a stereotypical boy, he loves Hotwheels, swords and guns. At the age of five, his Lego-building skills have surpassed mine, and he often presents me with creatively-constructed and beautifully-symmetrical spaceships, complete with guns and spoilers.

Despite his boyishness, he's not afraid to wear fairy wings. He points out sparkly costume jewelry in stores and tells me how beautiful it is.

He excels at computer games.  Too advanced a player for educational preschool games, he uses the same sites I do.  Unfortunately, I have yet to find a zombie apocalypse shooter that also teaches reading and writing.  I suppose I'll leave those skills up to kindergarten to teach him.

He loves stories.  The worst punishment I can give him is to not read him books at bed time.  He chooses his books carefully, and is even particular about which one I read first.  When the lights are turned off I make up another story for him, or draw from my short list of memorized fairy tales.  He doesn't ever want his own name in the story, or even the names of anyone he knows. I'm not sure why this is, but if a character is named William he will refuse to listen until I change the name.

He is capable of carrying on insightful, intelligent conversations on any topic, with the possible exception of "What did you do at school today?".

He's loving and sweet to his sister (except when he's not) and he's loving and sweet to me (except when he's not).  He's polite, even thanks me for making dinner, which I don't recall teaching him.  After his bed time stories he tells me I'm the best mommy in the world.