seven

As an egg turns to caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly, there is gradual cellular change that escapes our detection.  Every so often, there is a marked shift that is magnificently obvious, so grand it fills us with awe.

And so it is with our children.  While no one at our house is sporting wings or spinning silk, the seventh year has brought about quite a formidable shift in the life of E-man.  The egg has cracked.  He has emerged from the nourishment of family and is  perched on the plant where the egg was laid.   His soul now feeds on the leaves of friends, neighbors, fellow violinists and school mates.  And here he will feed for many years to come, his mind and heart growing fatter from the nourishment of experiences and relationships that are outside of us.

It’s an arduous process emerging from that egg.  It hasn’t been smooth or beautiful.  Things have been broken.  There has been hurt.  But when given the quiet to reflect on this last year of “hatching”, a mama can see the emergence of this boy from his childhood egg as nothing short of miraculous.

We share our life with a boy who loves to lead and plan and delegate.  A boy who loves to perform and  work the crowd. A patient and articulate teacher with a persistent and focused mind.  A boy that goes non-stop from sunup past sundown, always grumbling (loudly) as he lies in bed at night that he will never fall asleep.  He counts to one thousand by twos or fives or tens and drops off to sleep with an audible thud.  There is nothing gradual about anything he does.

If he were music, he would be a symphony.  His emotions seem to carry everyone with him.  His highs are the tops of mountains on a bluebird day.  His lows are a tempestuous sea, boats rocking wildly around him.

He is my best teacher.  (Though I am a very poor student.)  He keeps teaching.  I keep learning.  Neither of us gives up.

I am so grateful for this first-born son of mine.

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