Here's to a great 8

I suppose I've kinda given up on this here blogging thing (I blame Facebook...and work). But I do regret not doing birthday posts for the kids last year. If nothing else, these posts help put some slowed-down perspective on events that otherwise seem to careen forward with abandon.

And so, I hereby wish my goofy, smart, creative, handsome and kind 8-year-old a happy birthday.

First things first. You are huge. Tall, I mean, and solid, too. You are just over 4-1/2 feet tall and weigh 75 pounds -- you've shot up 3 inches in the past year. It seems that as soon as I buy you new pants, they're already high-waters. I've come to fear the teenage years, since we already can't keep up with the voracious appetite that feeds this growth.

I am so pleased that you continue to do well in school. You are pretty good at doing your homework by yourself, and get very worried if for some reason you aren't able to finish (like those nights we get home at 8:00). Inexplicably, math remains one of your strengths, but you can now also pick up pretty much anything written and figure out most of the words. You are fascinated by longer books, and keep raiding our bookshelf for copies of kid-looking fare--Harry Potter, Tom Sawyer, Stuart Little and the like. Your current favorite for actual reading is the Magic Treehouse series, but you tend you have about five books going at once and seem disinterested in actually finishing them (which frustrates your mother to no end).

You're in second grade now, and have a new companion at school -- your little sister. If we didn't already know you were a good big brother, having Nora at school certainly cemented it. You are her guardian and often serve as the "been there, done that" voice of comfort for new situations. At home, you and Nora play together wonderfully, and if a certain someone accidentally hurts a certain someone else, you're there with a goofy face to bring a laugh to the situation. That's not to say there aren't fights and disagreements, because hoo-boy, are there ever fights and disagreements, but I love that when it comes down to it, you two are so, so close.

You're now in your second year of basketball, and like most of the other boys your age, you prefer shooting baskets to working on plays or passing drills. But you're slowly catching on, and it's good to see you find your way outside your comfort zone of school or the sport you love. Because baseball is what you love. Last summer, you outgrew the Rec Dept league -- just not enough coaching or playtime for you -- so this summer we'll be stepping up to Little League, with a longer season, real uniforms, and kid pitching. We know you're really ready for this step because you were undeterred by the fact that your best friend Matthew didn't want to join Little League, too. You're also in the midst of your first swimming lessons in over four years, and we're so proud of how you listen and are really trying to learn, even though we know you're a little bit scared.

You remain the inquisitive explorer. There are icicles in our freezer and piles of rocks and sticks on our porch, since you rarely come back from a walk without a souvenir. You're really in your element when we visit Grandma and Grandpa Isherwood, though. What with their limitless supply of dirt, bugs and outdoor running water.

Weekends often find you making some project or another. That might mean creating a chart of numbers 1-100 or a giant thermometer or a book about Pillow Pets. (Tornado Boy, above, is one of my favorites, though -- a combination of your creativity and fascination with tornados.) Your mind is always working, working, and it's so cool to watch you interpret the world. Like yesterday, we told you that Grandpa uses his middle name instead of his first name when he writes books. Later that day, I spied your latest book, My Pillow Pet, by Aksel Lamb.

This past year, you lost your first (and second, third and fourth) teeth. You no longer need the step stool to see in the bathroom mirror. You can make exactly one hot meal by yourself: a microwaved hot dog. You've become a reliable source of information for what's due at school. You spent 11 months of 2010 asking for the same Christmas gift--a Nintendo DSi -- and wrote multiple letters to Santa, and for that you were rewarded with the gift you steadfastly sought. You still need some prodding in the morning when it comes to getting ready (since you tend to take at least 5 minutes to comb your hair just right), and you need reminders about picking up the playroom, or clearing your plate, but you are getting to be more helpful around the house.

You are learning more and more every day and trying to make sense of what it all means to you. You talk and wonder about the future -- about working, about money, about going to college, about having children, about dying. You make me promise that you will never have to leave home. And I smile and promise that you won't. Even though I know you will. I know there will come a day when you will want to leave so badly. But I am happy that although you are growing up in so many ways, for now, you still are the little boy who hugs me tight, reaches for my hand, and likes hearing about when you were a baby. Because you may be 8 years old, but you're still my baby. Always.