Today the boy turns five-years-old. How five years have flown by so fast, I really do not know.

We will go to Chuck E. Cheese probably. He has never been there.

There are a few things he hopes to get on his birthday. He’d like a poison sprayer from Home Depot. A bulb planter from Lowe’s. An old red push lawnmower from my parent’s junk pile. And a John Deere tractor set with a bush hog and a blade.

The boy is my best friend, my right hand man. There is no handsomer boy child, in my opinion. He is hilarious and too mischievous for his own good. 

He doesn’t meet many strangers, and he will tell them everyone about his farm and his rock quarry ( the spot in our driveway that he has completely dug up).

I hope he will always be my buddy. Riding through town, he will say “I wonder what the Goodwill has today.” If there is a mention of Tennessee, he will beg to go to Kimball. I’m glad he likes a good thrift store as much as I do (although I may be setting him up to become a hoarder).

He will start Mother’s Day Out this year. It’s only three days a week, but still it will be a hard transition for us. I just couldn’t  put him in school yet. He enjoys his childhood too much and I guess I really fear what the educational institution will do to his wild spirit. That, and I’m just in no hurry for him to grow up.

He has started dressing himself. We call clothes that aren’t pajamas our morning clothes. So he goes and puts his morning clothes on, and his shirts are often inside out and backwards. His socks, too, are sometimes inside out and upside down.  He likes his shoes on the wrong feet. He wore a pair of dress shorts with the zipper and button in the back all day long the other day. He liked it that way, he said. People who know my dad will find this particularly funny, as he never met a shirt he wouldn’t rather wear backwards.

He has taken on the habit of sneaking out a cuss word now and again. Whether he picked this habit up from “Mountain Men” or the adults in his life, I cannot say. He thinks the words are spelled  “s-h-r-t.” I don’t correct him.

There are a lot of things he says the wrong way. Like when asking for something politely he’ll say, “Can I may please?” I love it so much and I will be sad when he figures out that’s the wrong way.

I still rock my baby every night, along with little sister. I’ll take all the time he’ll give me.

He is looking at a farm toy catalogue. He just asked me, “Do You think I’ll get any bush hogging done with that?”

What was that Paul Harvey said? So God made a farmer … dear Lord please let this child grow up to be a farmer.

Danielle Wallingsford Kirkland is a former Sentinel staff writer and correspondent. She can be reached at

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