Last night, as Gordy tucked him in bed he said, “Dad, it’s the night before back to school, what if I can’t fall asleep? You know like the night before Christmas?” His excitement for the first day of school was contagious. To me, it seems like a clear sign that the summer of seven was a success.

Let’s kick things off with birthdays.  Luke turned “gasp” seven this year.  Ancient spiritualists and modern day mystics believe we shed our skin and start anew every seven years.  It feels like Luke is shedding his skin.  His once chubby baby body is now long and lanky, with a toothy grin and impish eyes.  Gone are the days of sweet little birthday parties with cake and ice-cream.  Instead we’ve ushered in the era of Nerf gun wars and fart jokes.  While on one hand it’s hard to say goodbye to the small boy with the wide green eyes, it’s also amazing to watch him carve out his own space in the world.  Like at the soccer field where he races off to the snack bar with a pocket full of his own money to buy treats, and comes back with the change.  Or, at the dinner table where our conversations are about what it means to be a good friend and what’s happening in Egypt. 

But, even with his budding independence and expanding world view, Luke at his core is all kid.  This was especially evident last week during the threat of an impending blizzard.  So maybe I can’t officially call last week’s snow a blizzard, but the night of Luke’s birthday our entire household was eager with the anticipation of the promise of snow.  All three of us spent the evening glued to the windows and checking the weather report for updates.  I’d given up hope.  Snow in the Pacific Northwest is a rarity, not to mention the fact that every forecast for snow this season has led to nothing but good old rain.  Luke and his father were believers.  At 6:00 the next morning they woke me with delighted screams and pulled me out of bed to see the brilliant white coated ground. 

Luke tromped outside in pj’s and boots.  Watching him from my steamy kitchen window throwing snow up in the air and trying to catch it on his tongue reminded me that even as he learns to be his own person in the world, he doesn’t have to give up the wonderment of childhood.  He can take it with him.  And, I hope he will.

2010 brought its fair share of joys and sorrows in our household.  When I glance back it’s not the highs or lows I remember, but rather the assortment of common, casual, and endearingly comfortable days in between.  Even more so, I’ll remember this as the decade that I came of age.  I lost a parent, gained a child, and learned how I define myself in the world.   

I think it will be interesting to see how history reflects on this chunk of time.  But, I’ll leave the postulating and comparative lists on advancements in technology and celebrity gossip to the year-end pundits.  Instead I’ll turn inward with my thoughts this winter’s evening and leave you with someone else’s words:

“New Year’s Eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things that the passage of another twelve months may be noted; and yet no man has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the coming of darkness on other nights.”  ~ Hamilton Wright Mabie

Wishing you health and happiness in 2011.

Insert screeching car sounds here!  I wanted to shout, ”WHAT?  Who told you that?”  But as I glanced in the rear-view mirror I noticed his bottom lip was quivering.  So, I shakily steered the car towards home and tried to pull something reasonable together.  In a panic to help him hold on to his belief I threw out, “Well, you can believe anything you like honey, but I certainly wouldn’t want to risk not believing and having Santa skip our house.”  Ouch!  Not my best parenting moment.   

Fortunately, as fate would have it, waiting in my Inbox was an email from the PNP (Portable North Pole) reminding me that Santa is back and better than ever this year.  The site allows you to upload photos and details that only the Big Man would know.  Then, Santa gives kids a sneak-peak into his workshop, ice-caves where his elves are busy handcrafting magnificent sculptures, and introduces his fleet of reindeer.  All this is neatly delivered via email directly from Mr. Claus. 

For the second year in a row, the PNP saved Christmas in the Seeley house.  The technology is seamless.  Even as an adult, I was completely captivated.  Santa magically knew all about our trip to Rome, and Luke’s first lost tooth.  He pinpointed our house on his radar screen and recommended that Luke help out more during the holidays.  This has prompted a mad dash to do the dishes after dinner each night, but more importantly it’s restored the belief that he wasn’t ready to give up.  I know that in the years to come, Luke’s belief in Santa and all things magical will be relegated to a childhood memory.  But, I also know that for now he still wants to believe and thanks to the PNP he does!

What’s happened to Thanksgiving?  Sure, it’s not a sexy holiday.  It doesn’t have a Santa Claus or Easter Bunny who secretly deliver gifts in the wee hours of the night.  Thanksgiving can’t boast fireworks, inventive costumes, or chocolate truffles and heart-shaped candies.  But, what it lacks in sparkle it makes up for in steadfast tradition.

No other holiday can compare with the tastes of Thanksgiving, of dewy turkey, sage and sausage stuffing, and fresh vanilla whipped cream swirled over pumpkin pie.  Nor do other holidays provide an opportunity to meditate on gratitude.  Thanksgiving is a crackling fire, muddy boots lining the front porch, the scent of Parker House Rolls rising in the oven, and a moment of pause as fall’s evening light fades and winter closes in.

Why then the abandonment of Thanksgiving?  The instant jack-o-lanterns were hoisted into recycling bins and skeletons packed away for another season, Christmas creped in. 

It didn’t use to be this way.  There was a time when the entire month of November with its kaleidoscope of falling leaves and brisk mornings was devoted to Thanksgiving.  Christmas has no place in the fall.  I want an eggnog latte when it’s twenty degrees outside and the trees are barren, not on a blustery afternoon when the east wind is whipping leaves in the air like confetti.  Twinkle lights, evergreen swags, and Christmas music playing 24/7 on the radio are all good and well…in December!  Retailers and coffee shops be damned.  This week I’m celebrating Thanksgiving.  And, for that I’m thankful.

And then, just like that, it happened.  One day his tooth was rock solid, the next it held a slight hint of a wiggle, and hours later Luke bounded into the living room holding his tooth and grinning ear to ear. 

Today the space between seems much wider.  The tiny gap is a reminder of how quickly my child is transforming, and the ongoing realization that there’s nothing I can do to stop it.  As much as I’d like to freeze this moment or wish him back to younger days where he slept on my chest for hours, his evolution through childhood marches on.  I think my only option is to embrace the space, and hope that with each little wiggle I can learn to let go.

Since our house revolves around all things Star Wars it was only fitting to serve Gordy Yoda pancakes on his special day.  Nothing says I love you dad more than a Storm trooper cut out of fluffy pancake dough or Darth Vader drenched in syrup. 

When Luke and I procured the pancake cutters we also discovered a kid-size Star Wars apron for him to serve them in.  Super cute, plus I figured it could be his standard apron.  Yeah, like aprons get a lot of wear around here…nonetheless he strutted around in the apron and delivered breakfast with flair.  Later in the afternoon, Gordy was surprised to find Luke sitting quietly by himself in his room and his apron stuffed into his garbage can.

Gordy asked, “What’s wrong bud?  What’s your apron doing in the garbage?”

Luke held back slight tears and said, “I threw it away.  It’s your day dad.  I shouldn’t have a gift on your day.”

Gordy scooped him up, removed the apron from the garbage, held him tight and said, “You’re the best present ever bud.”

With a wink to me, they proceeded to check on the world they’re building online.  I think they’ve built a pretty good one here.

A few hours later, he snuck into his rooming, hollering for us to stay out because he had a big surprise planned.  He emerged in his “fancy suit” just in time for pizza night on the basement couch.  Go figure.  And, come on who doesn’t want to knock back a grape soda and slice of pie in a suit and snap-on tie?

From the suit to the camo tee and Johnny Cash tunes to almond flavored Easter cookies our house is eclectic.  We don’t walk in a straight line every day.Of course none of these things go together.  But, I wouldn’t want them to.  And, maybe we’re just recreating a 2010 vision of the new Rockwell generation.

Bucking the current trend, we opted to allow Luke to invite as many kids as the age he was turning.  Three for three, four for four, five for five and this year six for six.  His parties thus far have been simple and lovely.  Reminiscent of birthdays from my childhood where my mom would decorate our dining room with pink and yellow balloons and bake a homemade angle food cake with fresh raspberries sprinkled on the top.  To date, his birthday bashes have been manageable and without the pressure of eagle-eyed parents ready to pounce, very low-key.

That changed this year when Luke trotted home from school one day, flopped his backpack on the kitchen table and announced, “This year I’m having a sleepover!”  A sleepover at six really?  After a long debate, we decided a six-year-old sleepover was still better than twenty-four kindergartners going head to head at Chuck-E-Cheese right?  Well, actually I’m pleased to say right!  Believe it or not the sleepover was a smashing success.  Sure, six boys and two dogs on an overcast evening translated into running laps around our dining room table and eating popcorn at 11:00 at night.  But, minus a lightsaber fight that got a little out of hand and a battle over who landed their spaceship closest to the Death Star, they were easy.  It was a reminder for me at how important independence is, even at this early age.  There were no tears in the middle of the night or requests to be driven home.  They tucked themselves in and told funny stories, which apparently when you’re six is anything related to farts.  I’m glad we took the plunge, although we might need to re-think seven for seven next year.