Sometimes I take a look at my little boy, and I catch a glimpse of the young man he will be in a few short years.
(I think I detect a slight bit of attitude going on there)
He's growing fast; he'll be nine this year and I find myself prouder of him every single day. I'm lucky that for the most part, he's a pretty good kid. He knows how to behave in public, is polite, and rarely picks his nose when people are looking at him. As a mom to a boy, I know it probably won't get much better than that.
He's not perfect, no child is, and I don't expect him to be. We tell him to do his best, tell the truth, and speak up if he needs help. For the most part, he does all that. He tries to lie on occasion, but he's so horrible at it, that he gets busted every time.
Chickenhead is multi-faceted. He likes Transformers and Spiderman. But he also likes art, and is interested in DaVinci and Norman Rockwell. He thinks Buddha is pretty cool. He likes the Jonas Brothers, AC/DC and the Ramones. Chickenhead is a killer on Wii, and kicks my butt on a regular basis. It's humbling to have an 8-year old beat you at Guitar Hero. We won't even discuss the regular whoopings I take from him on Rockband or Super Mario Kart.
I intend to keep on enjoying as much of Chickenhead's childhood for as long as he will let me. I know in a few short years, he'll be ashamed to be seen with me in public, won't return kisses, and probably won't tell me he loves me as much as he does now. That's OK. I'll be happy with whatever I get.
You're my best buddy, Chickenhead!