It came as a bit of a shock to realize that this year, my son is turning seven. It’s not like I haven’t noticed him turn four, then five, start school, then turn six, and then start grade one. I have certainly noticed him becoming a real person (as opposed to those fake people known as small children) with an actual personality, his own ideas about stuff, a sense of independence, strong food dislikes (still looking for the food likes), and appallingly declining listening skills.
But Tuesday at the supper table as we talked about how many events need to occur before we can get to the next Christmas season, it hit me, he’s turning seven. For some weird reason, it feels like a big deal.