He is 9. He is so vlose to 10. So close to teenage life. And yet still just as close to first grade. After school he plays football for an hour, throwing the ball ro himself and practicing running plays. He loves flights and memories flight paths. His knowledge of sports statistics amazes me.
Yet what I love most is his dear, tender, private heart. The part of him that walks me to my car in the mornings, and then runs along as I drive away. The part of him that tries to jump through my open car window for hugs in the afternoon.
The part of him that unquestionably wraps his arms around Sam when Sam toddles near him or tries to climb on him. I love that he is growing to be so independent and yet still is my little man. He still sometimes sleeps in my room. I have a King sized bed so we have plenty of space. But I love that I'm his safe space. That I give him comfort and protection that allows him to sleep so deeply that he snores.
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