I pulled out the camera to document the end of our solo time together. For the past 17 days your mom has been out of town and it’s just been you and me, all the time. You’ve grown used to having two homes, for about half a week at a time (barring vacations and trips) since 2009. I wonder if when you’re my age you’ll have any memories of the days when we all lived together.
These past few weeks have been wonderful. Part of what has made it unique is that despite the altered schedule we’ve mastered our routine. It isn’t a vacation; I go to work, you go to school, and we fill in the gaps with whatever we want. There’s a repetition in our rhythm that works. You’re reading a lot. You fly through my old Calvin and Hobbes books. Garfield cracks you up, for reasons that I understand but can’t stand. And the books you’re bringing home from school hold your attention for hours. You’re waiting on the latest Adventure Time (#25). We just finished the My Father’s Dragon books at bedtime and started, for the fourth time or so, The Little Prince. We both love the story, but it is intense. That’s how you roll, though, and I’m not trying to change that. You’re a passionate, emotional boy. I need to remind myself of that more often. Since when you speak you sound like the fourth and fifth graders at your school it’s easy to forget that you’re only eight. I don’t want you to grow up too fast, so I ultimately compare where you are to where I was at your age. It’s likes apples to oranges, honestly, but there’s no way I was as smart or interesting as you are now. Every year I tell people you’re at “my favorite age yet” and ever year I mean it. Eight is the best. But I have a feeling I’ll say the same thing at 9, and 10, and on and on. I’m glad for everything we’ve been through but nothing in the past can compare with the greatness of right now. You’re wonderful, kid. And it embarrasses you a little each time I tell you that. Thank you.
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