Greyson’s backpack, once more than half his size, now looks proportionate to his body. And it’s a full-sized one, not the cute little pack that was covered in lizards (that I loved!) and wasn’t capable of holding 8×11 sheets of school papers.
The backpack has multiplied into three, for organization purposes. Greyson has his super-duper “tough dude” one for school—black and grey and similar to Holden’s, the “Scooby Doo” (I’m thinking he’ll give up SD soon) for overnight trips with us and friends, and the coolest one of all—the soccer backpack with his player number and team patch. That one he wields around with cool authority, because you know, now he is a soccer player like Holden. And in Holden’s honor he requested the number 7 (Holden’s player number).
Greyson’s room was periwinkle until last weekend. While I was away at a writing conference he chose a bright deep Mediterranean blue to cover it up. Mark wasted no time getting the painting done. I stayed out of the room, kind of sad. Greyson asked that many of the things on his walls, keepsakes and books be taken out and either given or put away because, “I’m a big guy now, Mommy.
I bit the bullet and ordered Greyson a loft bed and I’m sure I will be in tears as Mark assembles it. In one sense the last traces of my “little boy” will disappear. But then I need to remind myself that when he hugs me and tells me, “I love you,” I will still hear my child.