Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Last day of school
No more seventh grade. You can see how excited Ethan is about it. (He actually is.)
This was the school year that Ethan stopped holding my hand. That was already on its way out two years ago, but I did take notice in the fall when he grabbed my hand one morning, and I sensed at the time that it would be the last time that would happen, at least until I'm very old.
That's okay. It would seem weird for a thirteen-year-old to hold hands with his dad. But if he ever wants to, I'll still be here.
Occasionally now he touches my shoulder, bumps up against me playfully, or hangs on me a bit. That's the new sign of affection. I'll take that.
This was the school year that Ethan turned thirteen. I'm now in a short, four-year window in which I have two teenagers. No tweens. No single-digiters. Toddlers are a distant memory. I'd still take a few more; you know that.
This was the school year that Ethan's voice changed. He got taller. He started talking about girls. He became less anxious, more confident. I think. Maybe it's an act.
Look how much he's grown in nine months:
It just keeps rolling on, doesn't it?