Will. My Eight Year Old.

 

I was walking down the stairs today, and I noticed a picture of Will that hangs on the wall there.  I walk past the pictures that hang there a million times a day, rarely taking the time to slow down and look at them.  In the photo, he is four years old.  His face is round, with kissable cheeks, sparkling eyes, and a noticeable lack of freckles, considering his current tally of "sprinkles." It was shortly after this picture that his face started to lose the "baby-ness."  Suddenly, he was a big boy.

Will is my mama's boy.  (Jack is in hot pursuit of that title, but Will is hanging on for dear life.) I always tell him that no one loves me quite the way that he does.  (Not the amount, mind, but the way he does it.)  When he hugs me I can feel it in my bones.

  

And I am constantly amazed at how much he has grown up.  He isn't a baby any more.  He is a second grader.  He is the "grit" of the soccer team.  He is a beginning piano student who has joy in every correct note.  He is the kid who gets off the bus and proudly shows me his perfect spelling test.

Oh, and he adores small children.  He was my biggest asset when I was babysitting regularly.  He could usually figure out what was wrong and how to make the baby stop crying before I did.  He loves his brothers and sister fiercely, and loves torturing them almost as much.

He still makes me laugh like crazy.  Still says off the wall things.  And we will be using Will-isms until we die.  (Nevah-evah-evah! It's too much soup! Shirts are very important to me. That was a sarcasm. I knew I would have a great life.)  A friend of ours who goes to the local college (where we know lots of folks)  said she overheard another student using a Will-ism one day - and it was someone we don't even know.  The girl apparently thought it was a movie quote because she had heard it so often from our friend.

Of course, those of you who know Will personally also know that this is the child that has taught me the most about parenting.  Any patience, creativity, or gray hairs that I exhibit come from parenting this child.  He keeps me on my toes, this one.

But, oh.  How I love this kid.  I love every sprinkle on his face.  I love his persistence and tenacity - which make me crazy, but will serve him well in life.  I love his search for justice in his life and in the world.  I can't wait to see how God will use this kid. It's going to be awesome.