The grandkiddo turned seven this year, part of the reason of the yearly sojourn. You see, my birthday is one day before hers. Someday this will take on greater significance, and I envision an annual midnight call between us to celebrate our birthday at the same moment.
While A.A. Milne celebrated being six
I delight in finding so much changed after one year:
- she can read to me!–“Please read me a book” is now a give and take opportunity for sharing the delights of reading
- she is more reasonable–melt downs are infrequent now that logic is not such a foreign concept
- she can ride a bike–tips and spills and “I’m tired!” aren’t even part of the lexcicon (perhaps one spill)
- she can tolerate outings much better–“Are we there yet?” doesn’t much occur due to being occupied with a book
- she is much more content to answers to questions involving “How come?” and “Why does?” because her understanding of the world is more complete
- she likes jokes and riddles–a shared sense of humor is definitely a bonding bonus
- she can carry on a conversation–there is actual dialogue instead of answering a stream of questions
- she enjoys classic cartoons as much as I–Tom and Jerry, Bugs Bunny rock
- she can go to bed a bit later–9 pm vacation bedtime doesn’t involve cranky kid syndrome the next day
Seven is not quite a perfect number, although it is perfection in the making I notice these glitches:
- loud and not-so-loud are not volume options: it’s pretty much tuned to loud
- cause and effect aren’t quite connected synapses yet: such as jumping on the bed with possible breakables in the vicinity, like my headphones
- full and empty are only relative terms when it comes to hunger
- bored and engaged entail thinking and non-thinking strategies: iPads are handy but guilt-inducing babysitters
- tone is important and attitude is quickly mimicked: in other words speak to them as I want to be spoken to
- sarcasm is a learned nuance as is teasing: “Do you mean that for reals?”
- sleeping in past 6:30 am is a foreign concept: okay, to be honest she at least waits for me to make a movement of waking up before pouncing on me with conversation (“DO you KNoW TIGERS haVe StRIPeS?”)
I project eight will be much different. Eight seems to be the new thirteen these days as I watch kids with iPads and iPhones in hand wander about. There is a savvy that is a bit disconcerting. I remain hopeful since the grandkiddo lives in a TV free household (amazing, I know) and has been mostly homeschooled so far.
For now I relish the nearly perfect age of seven. She still finds blowing bubbles a delight. I shall not worry yet when my love of parks and playgrounds and bubbles and cartoons become passe in her eyes.