Seven

Quick, what were you doing on the morning of October 29, 1999?

I was resting in bed, with a delicious 9#6oz. Marty snuggled up beside me.  In that picture I am on top of the world and beyond exhausted.

Seven years later he is a kind-hearted and generous kid who plays a mean air guitar.  To the scrum of life with four boys he brings a welcome measure of patience and sensitivity. 

Last night I was tucking him in and I said, "This is your last night as a six-year-old."  He said, "I'm nervous about being seven.  It's the age of reason."  I kissed him and said, "Reason is a gift.  And you'll be a great seven-year-old."

That's Marty all over:  thoughtful, a little worried.  But this is Marty too, laughing in a summer rainstorm as his big brother splashes in a puddle.  "I love rain," he says, dripping wet.

Now I need to stop writing about him because I have a cake to bake, and seven candles to put on top.