Little m Long a

Circumstance and obligation often time conspire to rob precious moments.  Traditions become “remember when” and “used to”.  Or worse, “why don’t we?”  The confusion is only compounded when the “whys” are from a child.  Several years ago Maura and I worked out a pretty cool birthday tradition for the kids.  We called it the Day of Fun and in lieu of showering the kids with gifts on their birthdays we would set aside a day just for the birthday kid to spend with Mom and Dad.  You don’t realize how important some things are until they’re gone.

We skipped a year of the Day of Fun simply because life seemed to have gotten in the way.  The kids had wonderful birthday parties and received plenty of gifts but they never stopped asking, “What about our Day of Fun?”  It was that important and and Maura and I kind of lost sight of that.  The kids didn’t care about the stuff.

They wanted us.

Ask and ye shall receive, kid.  (Unless you’re asking for like a motorcycle, or a gun, or a tattoo.)  Ask for anything within reason, kid and ye shall receive.  We get to determine what is within reason — it’s a parental prerogative.  It’s a word, kid look it up.

Zander and Zella kicked things off this year with what I can only say is a day that set the bar pretty high in terms of funness.  (Funness is probably not a word but it works here.  See the other comment about prerogative.  It’s my story so I get to choose the words.)

We started the day with breakfast and a toast to good times ahead.

Then a quick stop for some supplies.  And of course a photo op.

The Dynamic Duo prepares to reek havoc on the children’s section of the book store.  It never ceases to amaze me at just how excited my kids get about books and reading.  (Clearly a trait passed to them by Maura.)

It’s a bit hard for me to take sometimes when I realize that all of my kids are now readers.  Zander still struggles  with some words and tends to guess more than read but the progress he’s made from August at the start of Kindergarden until now is truly amazing.  I still get a bit choked up when Zella, in the living case study of how girls advance slightly faster than boys educationally, will take the time to help her brother sound out the more difficult words.  Or get frustrated when he messes up and just hit him.  Because she’s caring like that.

Next stop of the Freight Train o’ Fun was to the ice skating rink.  Zella had been begging to go for a year.  She may have been rethinking that request.

It took them both about thirty minutes to get halfway comfortable on the ice but they had an absolute blast.  I’m not saying they’re heading to the Olympics or anything, but it was fun.

Next stop — “Builder Bear”.  For some reason, Zander won’t say Build A Bear.  Or except.  He prefers to say becept.

Of course, we had to stop and play on the stairs for a while because when you’re 6 even a stairwell is an adventure.

Also logical limitations on imagination are pointless.  It’s perfectly natural for a stuffed wolf to be wearing a football uniform and riding a motorcycle.  And why wouldn’t a green bear with patchwork paws be wearing an Obi Wan outfit?

A bite for lunch and then we were off to one of our favorite metro parks.  The day was perfect for a stroll.

These two could have fun anywhere!

In a nutshell, the Day of Fun was exactly as billed — FUN!!!  And this this I know.  Maura and I have resolved to do everything in our power to keep this tradition alive because it really does mean so much to the kids.  And truth be told it’s an awful lot of fun for us as well.

I’ve just completed a whirlwind week.  Parties and practices, appointments and obligations.  Unofficially dubbed as Zane’s Fantabulous Birthday Week of Celebrations, it more closely resembled an out of control train perpetually gaining speed, rapidly approaching a hairpin turn.  Or a wildfire.  Maybe a drowning.  Call it what you will, it was exhausting and I am tired.

My kids are tired as well.  I’m not exactly sure when they decided to call it a night.  Stories vary and details are sketchy.  Someone mentioned 2am.  Others said never.  I feel the truth lies somewhere in between.  Heavy eyes and lethargy tell me that I’m not far off.

I woke this morning to the carnage that is a sleepover with friends.  The tent outside appeared to have been used but not for long.  Bodies lay strewn about the living room floor.  The room smelled of sleepiness.  ”Where’s Zane?” I asked Zia.

“He and Matthew went hunting for snakes,” she replied without looking up.

Tomes — delivered as matter-of-factly as if she were asking, “What’s for breakfast?”  Which, by the way, were the exact words that came from her mouth next.

I’ve spent the better part of nine years shaping a world ….. no, that’s not it.

A boy.

Preparing him as best I could for what the world around him is about to throw in his direction.  Has been throwing.  He’s strong, confident, independent.  He’s more poised to handle it than I was at his age.

I’d like to think that I am responsible for that.  I realize it’s more likely that he is who he is becoming solely because of him.  Not me.  He’s a good kid.  He picks good friends and they are good for each other.

Damn, I wish I was nine again.

I’ve come to believe that in the grand scheme of things, things are just that.  Significance attaches to things it oughtn’t and import is lost.  Soon nothing is.

Loneliness and solitude are unlikely companions among the tumult and the fray that defines daily existence.  And yet it is exactly here where both reside.

It’s been a while.  Maybe too long.

Perhaps not long enough.

Here we go…

I put my 8 year old to bed for the last time tonight.  I kissed him, hugged him tight and wished him a good night as I always do.  He’ll not sleep well, too excited for what tomorrow brings.  I’ll not sleep either for reasons altogether different yet almost entirely the same.

Zane will be celebrating his birthday in the morning.  Nine years.  He’s fairly certain that means he’s grown up, now.  It’ll be a daunting task convincing him otherwise.

(I wrote this two years ago when Zane turned 7.  Two years seems an eternity.  It was only yesterday.)

Thirsty for things that are beyond his realm, far and above what little boys should be concerned.  He looks at the world around him with a discerning eye.  Inquisitive.  Seeking more.  His world is concrete and solid.  Uncertainty and grey confuse him though they do not deter.  Frustrated but never discouraged.

He is confident.

He absorbs the world around, processing and analyzing.  Hours may pass before the questions start.  They are always well thought out and often difficult to answer.  Be prepared.

He plays with bugs and mud and fashions weapons from sticks and broken toys.  He throws his ball to no one and tackles them as if they were.  He is engaging in a crowd, content with solitary.

He laughs and you can not help but join him.  He is in a place where you wish to be.  Where you need to be.

Nine years passes in but a moment.

I once had a little boy.  Face of an angel.  A cherub.  A little boy that hated carrots and spewed vomit like a child possessed.  It made him no less endearing.  That little boy is gone, long since replaced by the young man before me now.  Face of an angel.

How do you encapsulate the essence, the wonder that is a boy becoming?  My words are certainly insufficient.  My heart inadequate.  Fortunately–none of that matters to him.

He’s happy and therefore I am.

Happy Birthday Wildman!

Today, the world is yours. Go ahead and scream!!!

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