Eight years old

I'm trying to remember back to being eight years old. I remember being teased for liking the Minipops. I remember getting in trouble for talking to my friend too much in class. I remember running and hiding when I'd hear my grandpa talking about how the world was going to pot. (Hell, I still want to run and hide when I hear someone talking about how the world is going to pot. Imagine my own internal struggle when I start thinking that the world is going to pot. Or watch the news).

So when my eight year old sat down with us tonight during a rare occurrence of watching the news because we were interested in the goings on in Egypt and then were glued to the rest of the ridiculousness that is our world, I wondered if we should turn the channel.

No, he protested, he was interested. And he was. He watched most of the hour before he got antsy and started acting eight again. Asking questions once in a while. Getting us to clarify things.

And I know that I resolved that I would not write about my boys much anymore, but I just can't seem to help myself. So, boys, if you're reading this when you're older, I'm sorry. I tried to keep you out of here. But I love you so much and when you say things like what I'm about to recount, I can't help but record it somewhere.

My eight year old and his dad had a pretty serious conversation about life today. They talked about death and growing up and then they talked about what would happen to Finleigh when Brian and I died. He was told that we planned to have found Finleigh a place to live by then. A home where she would have the help and support she needed.

And then he asked, "Why can't I take care of her?"

Words that surprised me and sent me into tears when Brian told me later. In the daily sibling bickering, I don't see much concern for their sister. But they must care. They must love her deep down. Just as she loves them. And that my eight year old would think to take that on his shoulders both gratifies and grieves me. Such a heavy burden that he doesn't even understand. We would never ask him to take it on, but that he would even be willing at any age - even for five minutes - makes me feel blessed.

Never change, my precious boy. Please never change.