Being Seven...

February 29th:
I lie in Jacob's bed with him, trying to help him relax and fall asleep. He is missing Mark and all he wants is a cuddle. He is nestled in the crook of my arm, a skinny little body next to my softness, he stretches and his toes just touch mine. "Hey I can touch your feet" he exclaims. "I've grown". "Yes you have" I reply, but I am remembering cuddling him in bed with me when he was a newborn, so tiny that I was afraid I would fall asleep and squash him. Now, tucked into my arms he almost reaches my feet. "You really have grown I say".

March 2nd:
Tonight I tiptoe quietly down the hall. I can see the light spilling out of the half open doorway. Just like it has for the past seven and half years. I used to peek through a crack in this doorway, holding my breath, willing the baby in the cot to be asleep. Its quiet now and I peek. A child is sprawled on his stomach in the bed where the cot once stood, book in hand, he turns and flashes me an uncertain grin. "Is it sleep time?" he asks, hopeful that I will say no. "Turn your light up to read" I say "but not for too long". And I pull the door closed and peek through the crack one more time ... and wonder where did all my baby boy go?

March 3rd:
He has been to a friends to play after school. He arrives home, hot and frustrated. He wants to stay outside, he wants to run and run. There is homework to be done. Reading to be completed. He comes inside, angry. Stomping through the house, books slammed on the table. "School just sucks" he says. "School is just a fact of life" I say, and I dig the homework out of his backpack. We practice the spelling words, reluctantly and hesitantly. I try to ignore the grumpiness. He's tired , we are all tired. I look at his hunched shoulders, tensed so tightly, the frown, the clenched fists. "You okay" I ask, and suddenly there are tears, he flows like liquid into my arms, clings with all his might. "I missed you this afternoon" he mumbles, in broken, quiet little words. So soft that had I not been sitting still I would have missed them. "I missed you too" I say. And I rock and pat his back, just like when he was a baby boy.

March 4th:
I forgot to set the alarm and he is disappointed. He wants the alarm to wake him, not me. "It doesn't matter" I say, "lets get your story done". So breakfast and last nights homework happens together. This morning has become sunshine and smiles, requests to help with the spelling and he is so proud when it is finished. We are later than normal arriving at school. "You can just take Bianca over" he says. I try not to show my surprise, this is the child of mine that will not say goodbye at the school gate. Even on the days when I am super late for work, he has always insisted that I walk him right into the class room. "I'll be over in a minute" I reply, "Nah it's okay" he shrugs. I walk his sister to her room, a jostling, energetic jumble of five year olds. We unpack, folders in the tub and drinks on the desk and I am out the door. I could just go, he told me it was okay. But instead I walk across the courtyard to year two. He is organised and content. But he still hugs me and says goodbye. And I get in the car with a happy heart.

March 6th:

We are at the school fair and I can see that he is torn. He wants to go on the jumping castle, but it is a Wiggles castle. Jumping castles are fun but the Wiggles are so not cool. But getting on so you can look after your little sister, that makes it okay. He has his face painted, a brown dog, with a white patch and soulful eyes. I think he looks cute, but I know better than to mention the word cute. Half an hour later he wants to wash it off. No one else in his year lines up for face painting, so that makes it a baby thing. He is stuck, wavering between what he wants to do and what other people have determined is acceptable. "I can't remember life being this hard when I was a kid" my husband says. "Me either" I reply. Maybe I have just forgotten what seven is like.

March 7th:

The screaming interrupts me from my last minute packing. The kind of scream that makes me instantly drop the towels I am folding and run to the back door. There is blood, broken skin and a lump the size of an egg on his head. He is crying, his sister is crying. "What happened?" I ask. " An accident" he says " Bianca hit me with the bike pole" Now they both are crying. I cuddle and reassure that no stitches are needed. Ice packs and band aids are applied. Finally we convince him that it is okay to still go to the shack, no one will notice, he does not look like a dork. "It;s okay, really" he tells his sister.
"What happened to your head?" my mum asks three hours later. He looks at me and then at his sister. "I fell off the bike" he says with his arm around Bianca. It's not the truth, he knows it and he knows that I know it. But he really loves his little sister, so I say nothing.

March 12th:
This afternoon he finally gets it. After weeks of patient instructions from the swimming instructor, he does it. Stands on the starting blocks, stretches out and his hands enter the water first. "Well done!" says his instructor. "Did you see me Mum?" he asks.
We have parent teacher interviews tonight. "He's a delight" the teacher says. Organised, diligent, quietly proud but not over the top, great sense of humour, able to follow instructions. No problems at all. "We are very proud of you" I tell him later that night. He is engrossed in a new book and only glances at me, but I see him smile. Tonight being seven is okay.