Our youngest turned five on Sunday. Hard to believe he’s headed to kindergarten in the fall. In lieu of photos, here are a few written snapshots from the weekend.

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Dozens of boisterous children are shouting, giggling, scrambling over the intricate jungle gym playground at the campground where our church group was staying. Above the din, a lone low growl rises to a roar. The small knot of grownups I’m standing in turns to stare as Trevor mounts the tallest tower. He throws his head back, pounds his chest, and roars at the trees and the sky and no one in particular.

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It’s bed time, and Trevor and I go into a single bathroom to brush and get ready for bed. Trevor has to pee, and there is no divider between the sink and the stool.

“Dad,” he says, his voice dramatic, “DON’T … LOOK … to the SIDE!”

I smile and shake my head. “Alright, little man,” I say. “But we’re both guys here, so it’s not that big of a deal.”

He thinks a second, then says, “OK, Dad — LOOK … to the SIDE!”

I glance to the left. Trevvy is grinning up at me, peeing with remarkable accuracy as he does so.

“See?” he says. “That’s why you’re not supposed to look to the side!”

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On the way home from the camp on Sunday afternoon, we’re asking Trevor what he would like for his birthday dinner. The menu: stringy spaghetti noodles (you know, the ones that look like lines), grapes and spinach (for the people who don’t want grapes), and garlic bread.* For dessert: brownies with white frosting and red and blue sprinkles.

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We went to Mass after spaghetti and garlic bread and before brownies and presents. It’s been a busy weekend, and Trevvy falls asleep in minutes. He’s our preschooler on the verge, stretched full length on the hard wooden pew, peacefully sucking his thumb …

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* Trevor genuinely likes fresh spinach, and eats it as finger food, leaf by leaf.