I have an eight-year-old. How did that happen?
It feels like a matter of months since I was doing a last-minute run to the party store for the shiny blue 7 balloon. But a whole year has passed, and I was under strict instructions this time. No balloon. No birthday balloon, for the first time, ever.
Seven was quite a year – at times it felt like DorkySon was more comfortable in his skin than anyone else I know. He grew smarter and funnier, stronger and kinder, and made me prouder than I can put into words. But some days it felt like the pressure of new responsibilities was a little too much for him. I got a taste of how things might feel ten years from now, with slammed doors and sweaty trainers and more swearing than is likely appropriate. Oy. I’m buying my bunker now. Continue reading