In Which We March Towards Ten

My Sunbeam

Ten Years Old, that is.  As my thoughts turn to Spring and images of green grass and May Poles and Flowers dance in my head, I keep being reminded that as all these joys come tumbling towards us, my sweet boy will also turn ten.

Oh my. Do you know this child? Forgive my gushing and my dramatic prose, but he simply is a golden beam of light. He came tumbling in to our lives quickly and with amazing force almost a full decade ago, and I am quite sure that my world shifted on its axis from that point on.

 

A most excellent brother

  He is young and sprightly, with energy that seems to carry him a wee bit off the      ground most of the time. He is quick to smile and has such a sparkle in his eyes. He is nimble and rosy cheeked, quick and always full of laughter. He is a good friend and has a loving heart. And he can be a most excellent brother.

          
 And.

Strong and capable

 He can be stubborn. Oh my, yes. And    persistent. Without a doubt. (These traits will serve him well in some parts of life!) And this guy does not love work (as in chores around the house). Oh my, no. In fact, those large sparkle-y eyes of his can roll dreadfully at the                      thought of a task.

A gentle soul

You see, life is way too interesting to be weighed down by the minutia of home tasks. This child who prefers to float about, peeking at that, drawing this, poking at that, practicing headstands, running, bounding, and frolicking about like a young colt, teasing his sister or building with lego's... suddenly gets plopped right down to earth with a thump whenever he must empty his lunch box or feed the dogs. He finds having feet firmly on the ground most tiresome and disagreeable.

Alas, a mama's work is often helping one face the most disagreeable tasks of life. So there we often are with me reminding and he eye rolling. I am often demanding him to come down to earth (otherwise known as, quiet down, quit jumping, do your chores) and he, unable to resist the upside down gravity of his nature, persistently resists.

class play-- dreadful giants

But.
We have books. Every night I read to him. Together we are transported elsewhere as we cuddle under blankets and open our current book. We travel far and wide on these journeys. It is one of the things I love best in this world, and I do believe he feels the same. Our books often launch us into discussions of the heart... discussions of our literary characters, yes, but they often lead to the matters of being nine. Of friendships, of hurt feelings, of hopes and dreams for the future, of wondering about life. They frequently wander to the questions of my life...questions of how I met daddy... or questions about dear Granny. And they even sometimes go further afield as he wonders about reincarnation and death and God and goodness.

As I leave his room each night, I think about how hard it is to be nine. How amazing it is to be nine. How difficult and how wonderful it is to grow up, become, find yourself and sculpt your very own ideas and beliefs.  I feel overwhelmed at the honor of being his Mama. Overwhelmed, sometimes, of the task of being his Mama. I feel strongly that his dad and I have been given this task for a reason, that we have what it takes to guide him. And even though his levity is much of what makes him so lovable by all, his dad and I must discover ways to help him find it less disagreeable to walk firmly on the earth. I believe is is partly our duty to help him access his persistence in the work of his hands and help him unearth a virtue of careful work.

A lot of the time however, we just observe him as he revels in his lightness. We admire his agility and his grace, his charm and his humor. We enjoy his art, his music, his imagination, and his compassion.

And we wonder where the years went and how it came to be that he is nearly ten.






The best books:

We just finished the entire set. We have been on the wagon going west, we have been through the grasshopper plagues, we have suffered with the Ingalls' family through the Long Winter, and we have joyfully anticipated the love of Almanzo and Laura. Oh what a trip it has been. Enough cannot be said of the beauty of these books.