Late Great Planet 8

Happy birthday, Joshua. It seems fitting that I'm writing this post the day after your birthday. But this is not the time to talk about the day-late, dollar-short parenting afforded so often to middle children, and besides, I don't think you'd mind. You had a good day. Any day that involves a trip to Target is a good one in your book, right? You picked out a new bike from us and spent your adorably wadded birthday cash on a Transformer you don't have to actually transform and a Tomogachi. My little consumer.



It's hard for me to believe you are eight years old. For some reason, eight seems so much bigger than seven. Come August, you'll be in third grade. That was a tough year for me, and each time one of you approaches it, I worry a little. Your brother got through it without a hitch, but you are much more like me. Third grade was the year my rebellious streak first reared its head, but I did have an insane teacher, so maybe you'll do better. There's a lot ahead of you this year: a new school where your big brother has never been heard of, for one. I'm excited that you'll have the chance to blaze your own path, but also a little apprehensive. I know you'll do fine. Mostly I know that.



I try to make myself stay in the moment with the four of you, but it's hard sometimes not to look ahead and wonder what the future will be like. I imagine you will be a lot of fun. You will be in a band and have an endless string of pretty girlfriends that I will try not to worry too much about. Hopefully you'll hold true to the maxim that boys always love their mothers and help keep me sane when your sister is just one year behind you, rolling her eyes and hating me as teenage girls are required to do.

Anyway, that's a ways off. Right now, I just want you to enjoy being eight. Ride your bike, look for frogs with your idolized big brother, get excited over the prospect of a day at the pool. Just be your sunny, springy little self. Happy birthday, Joshua. I love you so much.