GR8Y's 8th Birthday

It's hard for me to believe I have an eight year old son.  Eight?  Oh, that happened way too fast for my liking.  People told me how fast time would fly and I just simply didn't understand or perhaps I couldn't envision the future when the present was just so overwhelming as a new mom.  It seemed like I would have all the time I needed to navigate my new role as mother.  Actually, I wanted some of the stuff to fly by like the late night feedings and painful cries during his colic (his and mine!).  With no family living nearby to help me find my way into this new world of motherhood during the first few years, I'm afraid I did wish for it to pass.

But here we are.  I have this little person who radiates joy most of his waking hours.  He loves life.  He is loved by so many in our family of friends and relatives.  He cares deeply for animals, especially canines.  He is funny and compassionate towards others.  He likes to read and draw.  He only wants to wear shorts.  He sports a necklace or cuff bracelet almost every day.  He just started riding his bike in earnest.  He loves his dog Molly.

Over the last few months he's been growing emotionally and trying things on for size.  He wanted a Swiss Army knife for his 8th birthday, as he said I promised oh so long ago (did I?).  He's asked me to stop writing embarrassing notes on his waxed sandwich bags in his lunch.  Ouch.  He later came back and said I could write the notes, but there was a caveat - it had to be funny.  I could write meet me after school, but I had to add Bub to the end of the sentence. You know, to make it funny.  Funny to an eight year old.

One day he wants only to spend time with his father and just as that tugs at my heart strings, he's crying in my arms because he watched a Scooby Doo video that scared him and wants to sleep in my bed.  Yes, he's still a little boy.

I made him the requisite Kahlua Kake (not your average kiddie cake I assure you) because it is a Hecht family tradition.  He had one slice and was satisfied.  He's never been a big eater, and I think that's putting it mildly on my part, but he loved his cake with the make-do birthday candles recycled from last year's celebration.  I make this cake every year for Steve's birthday and, of course, Grady wants to be just like his father.  I can't blame him.

He asked for books this birthday and I just had to indulge him in such a simple request.  He's been coveting the Tintin series ever since he received a few old school cassettes of a few of the stories last Christmas.  His face lit up when he opened the books and, as you can see above, he dove right into reading them.  I also got him a The Sibley Field Guild to Birds and he immediately took it up into his tree.  Oh, that tree business has cracked me up this week.  Um, mom, can I do my chores after I sit in my tree for awhile?  How could I possibly say no to that?

We measure him every six months on his birthday and the half-way mark and can't believe how much he's grown since we moved in.

So while he's a bit hot and cold with me lately, I understand.  It's part of my job as his mom to help him get through these growth spurts, both emotionally and physically.  When he cries from growing pains in his legs, I'm the one he wants to rub his legs and sing him a song.  I'll happily do that as long as I need to.

Our neighbors release the llamas back into the pasture nearest our house every year on Grady's birthday.  This year, they released them on his birthday eve and he thought it was just the coolest.  He is still mesmerized by those creatures.

We rounded off the day with dinner and cake with Gigi.  Nothing like having your grandma come over and bestow gifts on you, as well as listen to every word you have to tell her about your special day.  He is the apple of her eye.

The cards and presents were opened in the wee hours of the morning as we had a little family breakfast birthday celebration before school.  This is a first, but I might just try and make it a yearly tradition.  Just the three of us chatting about who sent what in the mail, giving our special presents to him and watching his face light up each and every time.  He is so danged easy to please.

The knife was the last gift to be opened and he mentioned he didn't think he was going to get it at all.  Of course, his father talked to him about the safety issues and rules about not bringing it to school.  His mind was working fast and he was excited at all of the possibilities this knife would bring.  His first thought out loud was that he could whittle a walking stick just like Henry (Thoreau) did.  Seriously, he said that.  I'm not kidding.  Those Henry books he received a few years ago have made their mark.  Thanks Scott & Jill.

I'm sure Grady will be my teacher on his journey through this eighth year.  Perhaps there is a field guide for moms about that?  If so, I should definitely buy it, perch myself in a tree and watch him as he shows me how it's done.