On Saturday the boys turned seven. For me, five was equivalent to 18, six was 21, so here, at seven we are really dealing with their 25th birthdays.
Alas. I lived. They thrived. Ice cream cups for their class on Friday. You know the ones that are individual sized half chocolate/ half vanilla, with the wooden spoons?
I sang, Good-bye Six Years Old, to the tune of Goodbye Norma Jean, or Candle in the Wind. It was all very brilliant as I was making it up for them on their ride to school. Now I cannot remember how it went. Goodbye six years old, though I never knew you at all, You had the grace to hold yourself, while the toddlers around you crawled. And it seems to me you lived your year, like a candle on that cake, never knowing who to cling to when seven set it. And I would have liked to have known you, but I was just your mom…
It was pretty horrendous as you can tell.
They got a basketball hoop. Theodore had shot 23 baskets as of yesterday morning. It’s pretty high. My father wants to sneakily lower it inch by inch so no one will notice and they can build their self-esteem — making more shots.
We went to dinner at Flemings, where Petros wanted to go. We went “fancy.” C&C came. They behaved brilliantly, of course! The boys, not so much. Because Uncle Mark came, and they all trashed talked each other throughout the meal, when someone was not skateboarding on the sidelines upon one of the new skateboards he got them.
These scare me. But maybe it’s okay to go slowly on our very flat parking area.
Seven. They still hug, if not kiss. Lots of sentimental stuff is a joke with them. They still need and want us. Our attention, company.
I think if you make it known that you want to spend your free time with them, they feel it and later in life will want to spend more of theirs with you. Despite girls, despite skateboards. Despite what comes after twenty-five.
