Thirty-two is how many years old I was when I had Arlo, who turns seven on Monday.

Maybe it’s just that I’m a moody sort of person, but the moodiness of age 7 really suits me. It is self-conscious and insecure, sometimes, with a lot of introspection and ‘being alone in [my] room’ (much to Eli’s chagrin)(I mean fury). There’s a sweetness, still, and generally* not as much nastiness.

*except where his brother is concerned, where there’s always room for nastiness! Who’s got room for MORE NASTY? That’s what I thought, all you siblings.

Several times in the past few weeks, something Arlo has done has made me cry and realize that all the talking and talking and modelling appropriate behavior and talking and explaining and patience (and sometimes not patience) does pay off. SEVEN IS THE GOLDEN AGE, THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW.

One day this past week, after school, he was disappointed that a friend of his wanted to play with a different friend, not Arlo. He cried and cried and I went over and gave him a hug. After we got home, he went up to his bedroom and shut the door. A few minutes later, he brought me a card he had made. The card said, “You tried to cheer me up when I was sad. Thank you.”

Another day this week, he asked if I could make cupcakes for him to bring to school and celebrate his ‘summer birthday’ with his classmates. I agreed to do so and then we had a brief discussion about how many he would need, determining 23 including the teachers. “Oh, and we should maybe bring some fruit or something for [kid] because he can’t have cupcakes.” At first I was annoyed because who wants an extra thing to do? Then I realized that every day for a week, someone would have brought cupcakes to class to celebrate a summer birthday, and every day [kid] didn’t get to have one. And my kid noticed. The reaction of the teachers when we provided two Canada Day balloons to [kid] in lieu of a cupcake said it all. #heartburstexplosion

He’s not perfect. But he’s a damned fine human.