weren’t for him, but instead it was one of the best. I’m not sure if this is something that is usually said about five-year-olds, but JP is full of charisma. He has a smile that lights up a room and a wit that is nearly fully developed even if he is not. I could watch JP all day. Not so much when he’s just sitting on the couch watching Bugs Bunny because then he’s just like a little lump of a boy stuck to the cushion, like Silly Putty. But when he’s on his game, running and skipping and shaking his butt, there is no better entertainment for the money. He cracks me up. He is the quintessential little boy replete with bed head at two in the afternoon, dirty fingernails and bursts of energy like a Tesla coil, book-ended by periods of Zen-like rest. He’s a singer, he’s a dancer, he’s a showman. JP is our very own Sammy Davis Jr., only white, gentile, 
two good eyes and a hair taller than the original already. He was bald when he was born and his favorite food is bacon. He could drink a sinkfull of chocolate milk, scale a lamppost like a gecko and make up a joke on the spot all while you were still mesmerized by that grin of his. He can reach his nose with his tongue and his favorite Marx brother is Harpo. He still sucks his thumb at times, hates the morning and loves his Momma. He’s musically inclined and has developed a deep, guttural, fake belch. He’s a boy of few words and the typical middle child, sharing his toys with his siblings because he wants everybody to be happy. He is one of the four slices that make up the apple of my eye. Happy birthday to you, JP!
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