My beloved firstborn fruit of my loins turns 10 today. Double digits. One decade. He's a young man of simple tastes (Chinese food, Goosebumps books, The Wizards of Waverly Place, and Boy Scouting). He's trustworthy, loyal, moody, funny and creative. He's kind to his brothers, full of great questions and too often thinks he knows everything. Mr. T loves to spend money and is easily swayed by promises made on TV commercials. He's stubborn, emotional, and passionate. He's a 1st degree black belt in karate and has earned 14 of his Webelo Scout pins. He wants to be a chef when he grows up and run his own restaurant. He told me yesterday that when he's in high school he'll have to get a job, when I asked him why he said so that he can afford to build a house after he graduates. Adult burdens weigh heavily on his mind.
He's the kid who has broken our hearts the most--but we're correctly medicating his seizures and when teachers follow his 504 plan he gets B's and C's in school. He eats with the same group of 7 kids every day at lunch and has had more play dates this year, calming our fears about his social life. He memorizes song lyrics like a champ, but will have to figure out 7X7 every time he sees it on a math sheet. Mr. T synthesizes and evaluates big picture information like a genius, but his spelling and handwriting are deplorable. Dyslexia has rendered his brain's processing a mystery, but his facial expressions make him an open book. He adores art. He reveres his father. He can't wait to go to camp this summer and have adventures.
Classically firstborn in temperament, Mr. T is the apple of my eye.