Today, the boy turned seven. Seven is a surreal kind of birthday. He's no longer a cute little moppet with baby fat around the edges toting around floppy stuffed dog. Overnight, it's like I see how lean he is now. He's tackling bigger things at school, moving beyond the things that kids pick up without effort (like the ABC's) and on to things he has to take a pause to work out.
He's also becoming more independent, so we decided this would be a good year to celebrate that: my parents got him a bike. He rode it with me tailing him around the block three times before he wanted to put it away.
At first, he didn't want to get one... then he saw stunt bikes on TV. Bikes going through hoops of fire, jumping helicopters, evading raging tigers, etc. After that, he definitely wanted a bike.
Did I mention the self-destructive tendencies have gone up, too?
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