Seven

Today was my son's birthday. He's just turned seven.

In many ways, his being a six-year-old was the longest year of his life, for me. That could be because I was more emotionally "here" than I have been in recent years (that's a digression for another day), or perhaps because this was the year he became more self-contained, more of a separate and distinct individual, following his own chosen path. (I prefer the latter explanation.) Whatever it was, it feels like he's been six-years-old forever. I'm sure it's going to be a few weeks before I stop reflexively typing "my six-year-old."

(The Wild Raspberry Ice Cream was lovely, by the way. When you first taste it, it seems more vanilla than anything — but when your tongue finds a bit of raspberry it all sort of explodes in flavor. I've used the rest of the raspberries to make more this evening.)