Dude, you got a raw deal. You're the youngest, so it's rare for you to get anything new (although kudos on the new Spiderman sheets!), plus your parents have been incredibly distracted for, like, most of your life, AND you have yet to spend 2 years in the same gan. So, happy therapy, kid.
I remember when you were born. It was kind of amazing. And that shabbat is right up there as one of my all-time favorites ever.
And now you are five. FIVE. (And a half, you tell everyone, which is almost true at this point, but you've been telling people you're five and a half since the day after your birthday.) And you are FUNNY.
"Amit, how was your day?"
"ASK ME IN HEBREW."
And the way you pronounce "r" in English, with your little Israeli accent that makes it come out somewhere towards the back of your throat but not quite resh, oh, it's priceless. "Purrrrrrple." Yum.
You are terrified of the dark, and of being alone, and apparently, that if you get water in your ear you will be deaf. You are crazy about your big brother Yoni. You love your Legos. You are full of energy and excitement, and you make me laugh, even as I realize that I should actually be punishing you. Can't do it. You're too cute.
You cannot figure out which way your shoes go on your feet, you love your new jacket, you love when I read you The Day the Crayons Quit, and you love to hear Adi tell you No, David.
You love gum and junk food. Regular food is not so much your thing, but you seem to sustain yourself fairly well on junk.
Today, while we were driving home, you wanted Daddy to put a video on his phone for you. But Daddy was driving, so he couldn't. So you said, "Daddy, I don't understand why you can't stop for a minute and put me the video!" Because, really, what mattered here? Getting home, or your video? Clearly, our priorities were wrong.
Amit, you are awesome. I hope you know how awesome we think you are.