The Hub traveled for a long time, so he missed many of Max’s events. Even though Max never vocalized disappointment, I know he felt it. Now when Papa shows up, I can see him beaming with pride.

It got me thinking about how the littlest things affect our kids. Like when we moved several times in a year. Max was a mess. He reverted, and it was hard to help him feel stable once we moved here. Throwing him in a French immersion program didn’t help with that. Now he’s well-adjusted and doing fine.

We have to think about how our actions as adults affect our kids. The ripple effect can sometimes go months or years beyond its source.

Photo credit: kgreggain

For my husband, it’s great. Max is more physical now, which means they wrestle and fight a lot while I look on over the book I’m reading. I don’t resent them spending more time together; I’m glad of it. I just feel a little…well, empty.

And in place of snuggling up with me, he’s arguing with me. The Hub and I recognize that it’s a power struggle, but it’s one I’m not interested in engaging. Today I took away his iPhone in an effort to show him that arguing relentlessly has consequences. He seemed to get it.

I feel like we’re already embarking on teendom, and I’m not ready. After all, he’s only 7!

What about you? Do you force encourage your kids to participate in a sport or activity? What if they’re not interested in anything?

When I was little, I would have loved to taken classes, but my parents weren’t the type. I don’t want to push him, but I do want him to expand his world.

He’s a rule follower. So am I. The few times in my youth that I rebelled (I mean, um, that one time that I got caught, Mom), I was so overwhelmed with guilt. He’s so afraid of doing anything that goes against the norm. Still, I’m pretty liberal these days, so that drives me crazy.

He likes a street fair as much as me. The hub would rather poke his eyes with a branding iron than walk down a street filled with thousands of sweaty people, hucksters selling solar paneling and water purifiers, the waft of waffle cones, street tacos and polish sausage dogs filling the air. We two? We like spinning the wheels and winning prizes. Eating our way down the street. Coming home with bellyaches.

He’s a worrywart like me, and I fear that he picked that up from watching me. He constantly worries that we’ll be late, probably because for years I urged him to move in the morning, or else “we’ll be late!” Now he checks his watch every two minutes. Drives me crazy #2.

We both would rather curl up with a good book or draw than be active. Though he’s great at soccer, and I only more recently discovered my inner athlete.

So when I see something I recognize in myself, I marvel at it. But I also marvel at the ways he’s made these characteristics, for better or worse, his own.

This year, I used my Out of Milk app on my phone and scanned the barcodes of all the gifts he’d like. I plan to adding it to his birthday evite.

I worried if that was too forward. Parents are weird; they say “you don’t have to get my kid a present!” But really? Don’t you? It’s not like the kid is going to be like “oh, I’d rather you donate the money to starving children.” He wants his Transformer. Now.

So maybe I’m rocking the boat, or maybe I’m starting a new trend. But I vote to incorporate kids’ birthday gift registries. Who’s with me??

I spouted off this post before I did research. There are a few places you can create generic registries. I’ve just never seen anyone do it!

Target has a generic list I’ll probably use. Here’s another.

This year was different.

He’s been practicing every day, and I can see the enthusiasm in his movements. The dance is more complicated. He’s been excited.

Then the day came, and my little boy brought me to tears, once again.

And one major landmark was that this kid, who has been averse to face painting his whole life allowed the sweet teacher who trained them on the dance to paint African designs on his arms. He didn’t want to take the paint off that night.

I’m so proud of him, and watching him grow up is a joy.

I love that he may grow up to be an amazing swimmer in the ocean and get to participate in all these sports that we didn’t have in the south. Then again, he might not like them at all.

It’s just that California kids are different than kids anywhere else. I see that now. I’m happy to raise him in a place that gives my soul comfort food in the form of the ocean, which I’ve long drawn power from. I’m happy to raise him in a place where you can go camping right in the city and not worry about bad guys. I’m happy to raise him in a place that values eco-friendly products and practices.

I’m just happy to raise him.

Yesterday, he couldn’t ride his bike. In fact, he had a meltdown when Papa tried to teach him.

Today he can.

Do you remember the day you learned to ride your bike? I do. I had a Strawberry Shortcake bike, with pink banana seat and red and white streamers. I remember my dad pushing me off, me begging him not to let go and when he did, as all dads do, that feeling of freedom, knowing I was doing it all on my own.

I hope my son felt that today.

I told him he would never forget this day. We marked it with ice cream, as is necessary for any landmark moment.

It’s going by too fast…

When did we stop believing? I remember when I filled my bed with stuffed animals and had conversations with them until I fell asleep. When I fully believed the tooth fairy left me a dollar for the hollow bloody tooth I left under my pillow. When the world was full of possibilities, and magic was around every corner?

What happened? I believed as a child I’d still believe in magic when I grew up. At one point did I/you/we stop believing in it all?

I remember the day I learned about Santa. My friend (if you can call her that) Courtney just blurted it out in first grade. First grade! Far too young to discover that the world had been stripped of magic. I felt dismayed and disappointed. I wished the magic would last a little longer.

I knew a girl who believed in Santa til 6th grade (or so she said). For Max, I want something between these two scenarios. I want the possibility of magic to live on for him as long as possible. I want him to believe.

Still, I felt better at soccer practice. Day 1 there was a 6-year-old sobbing like someone was beating him because he did not want to play soccer. I watched his mom coax, cajole and threaten him out of the corner of my eye and I wanted to hug her. Because I understood. Max has done the same thing. (That kid is now the best player on the team a few weeks later).

At their first game, the son of a couple I’ve befriended started crying on the field. He wanted his mommy. She might have been embarrassed, but I knew how she felt. They eventually pulled him and took him home.

He’s not the only one.

When you have one child, you don’t have much to compare to. You can look at other kids but it’s the behind-the-scenes stuff you can’t measure. Is it normal? Are you handling it right? Know what I mean?

By the way, Max is ROCKING at soccer! He’s not the fastest, but he’s dedicated. Sigh of relief.