(Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.)
Did I mention my kid turned seven last week?
Beyond the whole “I can’t believe he’s seven, I swear he was just born YESTERDAY!” feelings… seven seems like a really big age.
He’s three years away from being in the double digits.
He pretty much can do everything on his own.* He showers, dries himself off, and gets dressed. He reads independently. He does his homework on his own. He takes care of getting himself breakfast most days, pours his own juice and milk, and clears his plate when he’s done.
He’s logical and negotiates for everything.
(No seriously. EVERYTHING.)
He’s kind of better than I am at doing math in his head.
He is very clearly his own person, with his own wants and desires and opinions.
Seven means: we are now squarely into his elementary school years.
Of reading and writing and math and science.
Of boy scouts and soccer and baseball and football and pretty much all other sports, because holy cow my kid loves sports.
Of Captain Underpants and spy games and laughing boy giggles over burps and farts and silly knock-knock jokes.
Of treehouses and lego sets (which he can do BY MYSELF, thanks but no thanks, Mom!) and Battleship and Snapcircuits and MythBusters.
Of jack-0-lantern grins of loose and missing teeth, interspersed with his adult teeth growing in.
Of card games like Trash and Uno.
Of dirt and holes in the knees and fetch with his dog
I can’t blink or I’m going to miss it.
* His “ability” to do these things is all dependent on his mood, of course…