My Little Guy just turned seven.
My quiet, no-nonsense, highly orderly and deliberate child by day, and silly, goofy, and rambunctious kid by night.
The child uses a timer when he reads. All because he has to log his reading minutes daily for school. Should I even go on? He even stops the timer if he needs to go to the bathroom in between. He doesn't believe us when we tell him he doesn't have to be that precise.
The boy needs a chill pill. Because by-the-books is how he rolls.
When he gets in a silly mood, he will spew out a string of Chinese phrases--all of the inappropriate type (learned from listening to his often-frustrated mama muttering under her breath)--in a thick, tongue-challenged American accent. We, as his parents, naturally try to hold in our laughter and act appalled. I say, You mean I send you to Chinese school and all the Chinese you speak are these? DS, not missing one single beat, recites numbers from one to ten, in Chinese, in the most perfect intonation one has ever heard.
They say birth order makes a difference. The youngest of the family comes with a list of behavioral generalizations. As much as we try to stay away from conforming to birth order stereotypes, I still have a hard time letting go of the fact that he's small. Not just the youngest small, but little. DD was always on the high end of the chart for weight and height. DS turned out to be on the low end. He's perfectly healthy; he just has a small frame and stature. He's actually saved us a lot of money since he outgrows his clothes at a much slower pace than DD did.
To me, he always looks younger than he is. He's shorter than most kids in his class. He can wear his shoes forever before needing bigger ones. Even the Tooth Fairy hasn't paid a visit yet--not even once! How can having all his baby teeth in an ear-to-ear grin not make him look little?
DD is tall for her age, and seeing her among her peers makes me feel less concerned about others picking on her. DS, on the other hand, is usually "looking up" at his friends. Being the worrier that I am, I wonder if he needs to work harder to be noticed. Or if he must do more than others to stand out in a crowd.
A parent worries. Whether the worries are warranted or not.
You might remember that we ran out of breath preparing for DD's last birthday morning surprise. Well, I wanted nothing to do with latex and hyperventilation anymore, so for DS's surprise, we strung lights all around his room for an evening surprise. As he stomped upstairs in objection of violin practice, he opened his door to find his room showered with glowing lights. His face turned from utter spite to boyish wonder, all in a matter of split seconds.
We got ya, bud!
My Little Guy is working his rank up in Tae Kwon Do. For his birthday, DH and I decided to get him a belt display rack. We all look forward to filling up this rack with colored belts as we and he gain more confidence throughout this learning process. I need visuals, you know, for knowing that my little one will not be picked on.
This rack is as much for me as it is for him.
Six was the year he finally found comfort in his own bed. It was the year he had the maturity to be introspective about his difficulties during transitions and actively attempted to improve in that area. At six, his smile was an even blend of a contemplative reserve, a trusting gaze, and a radiating beam. I look forward to see what Seven will bring.
If nothing else, hopefully a visit from the Tooth Fairy, at the very least.
Today, I picked him up from school and he unabashedly proclaimed to me in the school parking lot, as if stating an absolute, unmistakeable truth, "Mama, I love you like crazy."
My heart melted into slobbery goo. But not before I said, "You know I'm totally going to blog that, right?"
Happy Seven, my Little Guy!