Holy Horse, the Kid is Ten

As of seven minutes ago, I have officially been a parent for a whole dang decade. That's a lot. That's also, as Si will soon be but is not yet irritated with me enough to point out, me making someone else's big event all about me.

When it's obviously all about this guy.

I left the house this morning before he woke up, but I've been in touch several times since then to a) wish him a happy birthday; b) receive last-minute instructions on what to pick up as party favors on the way home; c) receive modifications of those last-minute instructions based on a late-breaking cancellation; and d) receive notification that his great-aunt's birthday card had arrived in the mail--"She said that she's going to retire this year and come visit us," he announced. "I want to see her again."

"Me too, kiddo. I hope she does come visit."

"...And? She sent me a gift card? Not just to a place but a visa card? For one. zero. zero. In my haaaannnnd!"

"That's awesome!"

"I know. That's all I had to say. Bye, mom."

For someone who's been keeping close watch on his earnings lately and making plans as to how to best invest those earnings in Lego products, that's a whole lot of present.

When I did become a parent all those years ago, and in fact for several years before, this was the time I imagined. The ten-year-old times. This is the age when, according to Dr. Spock (I think), kids have the personality that most closely matches who they'll be as adults.

If that's the case, Si as an adult will be the kind of guy who says his idea of a great Friday night is to spend it at home with a close friend and a good book. Or a good video game. He'll like things to be neat and organized, although he will continually be surprised and vexed when they don't get that way on their own. He'll be good at getting his work done efficiently and going home--I'm guessssing he won't be an 80-hour-a-week kind of guy. He's not really a striver--somewhat at odds with his tendency to insist on being the one with the remote, but hey, that's what his teenage years are for. To work out the kinks.

He'll be kind, and funny, and not a complainer. He'll like making people laugh, but not necessarily being the center of attention. He'll be a man I'm glad to know.

Happy birthday, kiddo. It's been a good ten years.

Chaos and calm

On Sunday we celebrated the birthday of this big guy:


Although there was celebrating on Saturday, too, and there will be more tomorrow. It's a five-day party! Or something. Actually, I think it's called "divorced grandparents who want to shower their first grandchild with gifts without the inconvenient presence of the other grandparent plus a separate kid party." Silas doesn't mind--more cakes for him.

We did the kid party at the mini golf in Englewood, the one I like because instead of having dayglo castles and giant neon dinosaurs it has xeric(ish) landscaping and holes that reflect various Colorado tourist destinations. I always leave there trailing slips of paper with hopeful Colorado vacation itineraries jotted on them. Mesa Verde! Cripple Creek! Garden of the Gods!

The rest of the weekend was a stretch of cheerful and indolent chaos, the sort we haven't indulged in since we left Fort Collins. Assorted people trooped in and out of the house all day: their cousin spent the night, one of Si's friends stayed until dinner while his parents went car shopping; some old FtC friends stopped in after dropping their dog at a vet surgery near us, and later Si's friends' parents stayed to talk about the frustrations of car shopping and the scary-but-okay accident that had necessitated it in the first place. And then on Sunday we hung out at my MIL's, eating waffles and fruit while the kids played. I dug in her garden, pulling out old iris roots, and then we all went to her pool before it was time for Si's baseball practice. Later, she and her boyfriend came over for dinner and dessert. A busy, social weekend that still felt homebody-ish: my favorite kind. Although by Monday I was ready for a little more regulation and routine and it was kind of a relief to get back to work.

The kids start school in two weeks! Helen starts kindergarten in two weeks! We're all a little anxious and excited.

Life with an Eight-Year-Old

We celebrated the birthday of this guy over the weekend:















The party was at ten in the morning, and he was hoping to wake up at nine so he wouldn't have to wait more than about ten minutes between his wake-up routine (dragging himself to the couch, complaining that he's not hungry, reluctantly eating a bowl of Kix before starting on the morning's business of bossing around Helen) and the arrival of the first guests. Of course this didn't happen and by 8:02 he was flopping about on various chairs wondering WHEN the party would START.

But start the party did, and it was remarkably pleasant. We even led everybody down to the park at the bottom of the street for a game of baseball, and yes, it was a bit chaotic, reining in eight eight year olds and a four-year-old helper (still weepy at being locked first out of the treehouse and then out of Si's room)--two of the boys wanted to take the Long Way, one needed me to carry a complicated piece of home carpentry that he'd whipped up during the free play of the first hour of the party (!), another found a crawdad claw that had to be kept track of--but also, I'm kind of shocked to say, fun. Walking along with two of the cheerfulest little boys on the planet (I took the Long Way too), one of them trying to make sure I knew where the Family Fun Center was and how to get there (just in case, you know), the other telling me about his recent trip to Philadelphia--I can't think of many better ways to spend a pleasant weekend morning.

Because this is the thing about eight year olds, I'm learning: they are pleasant company. They can make themselves juice and sandwiches. They are starting to appreciate humor, even that which does not involve poop, knock knock jokes, or cartoon characters slipping on banana peels (not that any of these forms of humor are NEGLECTED, you understand). They can go off by themselves. They can process. Excitement doesn't totally unhinge them. They can have a birthday party, three fun-size snickers bars and a slice of cake in the morning and still be able to play peacefully with their new toys until bedtime. They remember to add "I had a really fun time at your house!" when writing to grandparents to ask for more stuff.

Thank goodness. We're entering the sweet spot (which will last until he's approximately 12 and then end abruptly, I'm fully aware) (although I'm still hoping this won't happen to us and he'll be a CHEERFUL and PLEASANT teenager) (ha ha ha ha).