the great eight

About a year ago I read a book about parenting boys that claimed five-year-old boys were the lovers and at age eight they were beginning the downward spin into rebellion. I'm not sure what boys the authors were following, but certainly not mine.

My eight year old is an inventor, an artist, a chef, a dreamer, a helper, a sweet friend and as loving as they come. On Thanksgiving day, when he learned we were to contribute appetizers to a family dinner, he studied our on-hand ingredients and devised two original recipes. Who knew a tomato doused with cinnamon sugar could be so tasty? Or that cream cheese, hot cocoa and waffle cone would be the perfect compliment to a caramel apple?

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, when we began pulling Christmas decorations out of the basement, he decided the Iron Man shrine on the wall leading upstairs needed to go. Then he sat and drew and colored a gallery of elves, a goose named Quacker (Santa's assistant) and Mr. Claus himself. We now have a lovely holiday exhibit to admire each night as we make our way to bed.

This week, he tagged along when grandma and grandpa took Elliott to a holiday party designed for special needs kids and their families. Later my mom told me how Liam walked all through the school with his arm around Elliott, how he encouraged him to go first and, when it came to games or crafts or whatever they were doing, let Elliott be the "star." My mom e-mailed me later that night, "I was so awed by him."

Last night after I put him to bed and we inventoried the day's sparkles and challenges and I scratched his back (because he still happily lets me), I came downstairs and emptied out his backpack. At the bottom I found a letter to Santa. I was surprised as Liam insisted on mailing a letter back in October detailing the exact LEGO sets he had his heart set on receiving. I figured he must have heard about something a friend was asking for and wanted to send an addendum. I was wrong.

No doubt, at some age we will begin the downward spin into rebellion. In the meantime, for as long as I possibly can, I will be relishing the great age eight and the lover who ended up being my son. I, too, am so awed by him.