A 10 year old. Go figure.

My oldest kid turned 10 today.


I have no idea how that happened. I swear that just a minute ago I put an infant in his stroller to take him for a walk, and the next thing, he’s offering me the perfect hook for the novel I’m writing.

Yes, it really feels like an infant helped me figure out a major plot point for my novel.

The Boy was born 7 weeks early and I could hardly believe I got to keep him. He was 5lbs when I brought him home and he was only as long as from my fingertips to my elbow (his feet hung over a little) – I could carry him on one arm, his head in my hand, his feet by elbow. He didn’t sleep more than 2 hours at a time until he was almost 3 (and I was already pregnant with his brother).

He was a bright-eyed little monster who absorbed the world around him from day one, and who took everything quite seriously. He can still be very serious, but when you make him crack up, his laugh is a gift. He’s too hard on himself, and he has trouble falling asleep. He’s like a clone of his Dad, but he’s bookish and dramatic like me. He’s the kindest creature you will ever encounter, he has a vast imagination, and he loves video games, fact books, and crazy eights.

He’s my boy, and I am lucky that I get to accompany him as he grows up.

Thanks for choosing me, kiddo.

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