My Boy is Eight

Picture to come, I swear, of my eight-year old and his green cast.

We had crepes for breakfast, and a birthday sign. He had a candle in his crepe, he played Happy Birthday to himself at piano and we sang along (me, Benji and Gigi) and we had lasagna and Capri cake for dessert, with vanilla ice cream. He got a mountain of books and legos and he is so very happy. No homework for a night.

I asked him how seven had been.

"I liked it," he said. "I can pretty much do everything now."

"Like what?" I asked.

"I can make food, I can grow food. I can read. I can swim. I can do pretty much everything I need to do."

It was wise, and true.

I am not ready to leave him, we have so much more to teach. But if he were on his own, abandoned, or we died, he would be fine. Not just fine, he would be great. He could survive in the shanty towns of Rio, or the streets of Hollywood, or in a forest. I am not saying it would be easy, but he can read people, do math, sell things, find good people, and navigate. He is good and has a moral compass. He could take care of his brother, too.

He just feels grown-up.

He has brought so much joy into my life. Oh how I used to roll my eyes when people said that childhood flies by. But my boy is almost eight--halfway done. Holy Macaroni!

Birthday Party Fantasies

For boy #2 a birthday takes on added significance. It is perhaps the only day in the whole year when it is only about him! Gifts only for him. People singing only for him. A cake, only for him.

So we have spent most of the last eight months--maybe the last twelve--since his last birthday--fantasizing continuously about what kind of birthday party he wants to have. All year he gathers string on what he wants. Each week he revises: "I think I want a jungle party." "No, I would like a pirate party." "I would like it at the park." "I would like it at home." "I want everyone to have a blindfold when they hit the pinata." "I want to have a bouncer shaped like a giraffe. Like a tiger. Like a car. Like spiderman."

I take it all in, store it away.

But now we are getting to crunch time. He must make a final decision.

Today he came down with a new idea.

"I want to have a Star Wars party," he said. Strange, from a boy who has never seen the movie in its entirety. This is what it is like to live in American Society in 2009. If you are three, you know every character in Star Wars and have a light saber (or light saver) of your own. But then he said this:

"I want to have Star Wars balloons. Shaped like hearts."