Growing Boy

It is amazing to be a mother--to be a part of childhood.  I can't think of a more rewarding profession, past-time, life-long commitment.  There is the insanity of sleep deprivation, zero privacy, clash of wills, noise (sometimes I agree with the Grinch's assessment of the Who's incessant "noise, noise, noise!"), and absolute drama.  But then, there is also the sweetness of hugs and kisses, laughter, watching a child learn, helping a child overcome, and love.  Oh, the love.  It is so satisfying to love a child.  They blossom in the warmth of it, and you are never the same for having given in that way.  To be a mother, is a remarkable gift.

Some ages are more enjoyable than others.  Eight years old is a particularly wonderful age.  Sam recently turned eight, and will be baptized tomorrow.

We celebrated as a family,

Spencer took Sam to temple square,

Sam's grandma Karol took him suit shopping,

 and the boy started scouts.

   This age has a definite right-of-passage sort of feel to it.  He is given more responsibility, more is expected of him, and it happens just at the time he is needing more.  There is a restlessness, or a waiting, between the ages seven and eight.  Their minds and bodies are developing and preparing to change from a sponginess to a more pruning state.  I'm not sure I am explaining it well, but watching the transformation is amazing.  When Sam is baptized and confirmed, he will be absolutely ready for that.  He is ready to step onto a new path that stretches out into the eternities.  I can't wait to be a part that beginning tomorrow.