Today, the medium Little Jogger goes from one digit to two. That's right, he's the Big 1-0. This is his cake. He wanted a dragon's egg, and Mrs. Jogger, as usual, rose to the occasion. I'm trying to think of something that will really stump her. I want my birthday cake in the shape of existentialism. Or something.
Anyway, the Little Jogger. He's a good kid. Of the four, he's the most sensitive, both emotionally and physically. Tags in his clothes itch. He can't sleep if the room isn't exactly right. Any insult (real or imagined) from his siblings or friends is the occasion for horrible tears. But they never last.
He isn't much of a joiner. The first Little Jogger has choir and band and track. The oldest and newest Little Jogger has basketball and soccer and choir. The littlest Little Jogger has choir and Cub Scouts and soccer and choir. But the medium Little Jogger prefers to play with his friends. They will spend hours making up elaborate games, involving dragons and heroes and magic and machine guns.
He can get so excited about things. When he gets going on something, it will be his whole world. Which can be a real problem, if you want to bring him back to earth to, say, brush his teeth and go to bed. Right now, he's having a mini-meltdown because he's absolutely not tired and doesn't need to go to bed. In fact, he'll probably never need to sleep again.
Overall, he's a good kid, and I'm glad that we have him. Happy Birthday, Little Jogger.