Daddy, I miss your beard. Four, stroking his daddy's newly-clear-from-stubble face. We should go to the beard store, you can get a new one.
Five, while not faint of heart, is not quite as adventurous as his brothers. He's content to watch the roller coasters from the safety of firm ground, and observes new people from a distance rather than immediately embracing them as new friends. He has admonished me to be gentle with him when I push him on the swings, and in the back row of BoB he used to clutch at his car seat, white-faced, when Daddy Nut took the hills just a little too fast for his liking. Earlier this week we undertook a drive through the country, and when one of those hills was breached, he said: "It's not scary; I'm a big boy! When I'm a grown up, I'm going to be a big boy."
Must they grow up?