Ten. My wonderful, kind, lovely, maddening, firstie is ten. How can it be that we’ve been at this whole mother-son thing for a decade?
My darling boy, let us see what Ten years makes.
Ten is Football. This one was a surprise, you are tall, and coordination doesn’t exactly come naturally, and you tend to gravitate towards tech. But you love football and football practise, and you work hard at it. Your first present request this year was goalie gloves (which we got for you), a football (which arrived in the mail, addressed to you, from Grandma and Grampa. Very exciting), and a football shirt (Thank you Grandma and Grandad).
Ten is Technology. Your favourite at school is computing and coding. I don’t understand a word of it (I have fallen behind you already), but you do, and every parents evening we are told that you excel at it and help others. It scares me a little, because I am not ready for this pre-teeny interest in tech and computers and the internet and all the stuff that that entails (but oh gosh do I have to stay ahead on this one).
Ten is Silliness. Ten is you learning the boundaries of how much silly is fun and how much silly will drive me crazy. You walk the line, alternately frustrating and hilarious in spades. You pun with the best of them, you’re quick at it too, quick to laugh, even at yourself, but you’re (mostly, you’re only a human ten year old boy) careful not to make fun at someone else’s expense. Which brings us to…
Ten is Kind and Gentle. Oh my goodness, do you know how to be kind. You are the first to check if someone is ok, particularly when I shout ouch (regularly. Your lack of coordination is clearly inherited), and you are always first to try and distract an upset younger brother. You held that chick for Henry when he wasn’t ready, and kept trying to help him. You tell me you love me, randomly and often, and also not randomly. You see when I am getting frustrated, and you tell me then. You see when I am tired, and you tell me again. You wont hug me at school anymore (I understand) but at home you do, and you ask for them. I love it, and I love you for it.
Ten is Bacon Sandwiches for birthday breakfast, thanks to your Dad. I was panicking about my exam (and mornings are not my strong point), so we sat together quietly at the table, eating our bacon sandwiches, me with ketchup and you with barbeque sauce (to you bbq sauce is life) and I thought, HOW are you ten? how have you become so much, when I made you from scratch what feels like not so long ago? And we smiled at each other, finished our breakfast, and carried on the day.
Ten is also a donut stack cake, again courtesy of your Dad, as mishaps meant I was in A&E with Henry (he’s fine), but you understood, and ate donuts, and stayed up a little late, and planned your birthday sleepover.
So Happy Birthday Mr Ten, you clever, funny, wonderful, kind boy. You will always be my firstie, no matter how big you get. We must be doing something right.
I love you,