Riley - 7 Years

 Two nights before Riley's 7th birthday, he was in tears. "I don't want to get older. I want to stay this age!" He cried at bedtime. We were talking about his big day, and that big lower lip came out.

Never have you met such a sentimental young fool. Riley wants to hang on to everything, from the trashiest pieces of trash to entire years. To him, growing up means growing a step closer to our family moving apart, and nothing is worse to him than not having the four of us together. He cries at the mere mention of one of them going to college (despite that we're still nine years from that). He gets big lipped when being dropped off at a friend's birthday party or a grandparents' house - even though he knows there's almost nothing better than a birthday party or grandmas spoiling you with love, attention and sweets for a night.

Riley is one big experience in polars. On one side, there is this tantrum-prone, stubborn kid who lacks any and all reason. On the other, there is this sweet, loving and gentle kid who wins kids and adults alike over with his twinkling bright eyes. He's usually the first of the three others I live with to ask me how my day went. He's always ready with a compliment and will lavish you with hugs and kisses the moment you're still. The best compliments, too, because they are so genuine. "Mommy, you smell so sweet," he'll say from the backseat after I turn the air on - blowing my fumes his way. He often tells me I'm beautiful. Frankly, he makes me feel like I'm the most important person in his world.

And, while that may be true, I believe he has that effect on many people. Adults at school often stop me on campus to say how they talked with Riley at Running Club or saw him in the office and he gave them a hug and asked how they are doing. They all seem so impressed and just ... smitten.

It was quite a year for Riley. First grade began with a bang ... and yelling ... and tears. The adjustment was way less than stellar, and Riley spent a great deal of the first month or so of school in the principal's office working independently. Despite his best intentions, he just couldn't control himself. Working closely with the school counselor, principal and his teacher, Mrs. Laster, we came up with all sorts of distractions, accommodations and strategies to get Riley to settle down and learn.

In October, he was officially diagnosed with ADHD. A LOT of ADHD. The amount of ADHD that makes you look at him and wonder how he got as far as he did. We soon got him on medication in the form of a sticker he wears on his hip and, within a week, Mrs. Laster was reporting that she had a whole different kid in her class. At his first parent-teacher conference a couple months later, we cried together with joy at the progress he made.

Gone were the mornings of rolling around on the rug during learning time and, instead, were days filled with reading, learning and making friends. For his part, Riley fell in love with school - and Mrs. Laster. By the end of the school year, he had a report card worthy of Ivy League consideration. Not only did he pull to the top academically, but he got nothing but great marks in areas like effort and behavior.

However, the medication isn't a miracle drug and still leaves us with our share of concerns. For one, it kills his appetite. So we must closely monitor his food intake and his growth. So far, although he seems pretty skinny, he continues to grow and be proportional. Also, he's not medicated when he's not medicated, meaning after the medicine wears off in the afternoon or before we give it to him in the morning, there's a lot of attention deficiting and hyperactivitying going on. That's when the unreasonableness and stubbornness rear their ugly heads.

For the most part, I try to avoid conflict by thinking a step ahead of what I do or say. However, we also struggle with ensuring that he knows that the world, and our home, do not revolve around him, his wants and his desires. It's a precarious balance that, unfortunately, often leads to yelling, tears, impatience and frustration. We're all working on it together.

Dear Riley,

I have to admit: There is a part of me that doesn't want you to grow up, either. It's not the part of me that's exasperated by your insistence that we do everything for you, like put a piece of pizza on your plate when you're perfectly capable of doing such, or that you can't do things like ride your bicycle over a driveway in the sidewalk - thus keeping the other three members of the family from enjoying the bike rides we crave. It's the part of me that knows, as you seem to, that these fleeting moments of childhood love and wonder are just that ... fleeting.

I don't know how you can seem so oblivious about so much at one moment, and so tuned in to some of the world's harsh realities the next. I try to assure you that, in not too long, you'll be fine with the idea of not living with us or your brother and you will desire independence. But I'm glad you're not in such a rush sometimes, because I know that means I have many more days and nights filled with your unconditional love and cuddles.

I love that you still want to hold my hand when we walk together. I love that the last thing you want to say and hear every night is, "Good night. I love you. Have sweet, sweet dreams." I love that you find beauty in so many things my eyes would pass over as junk. I love that you want to hang on to all that is warm, sweet and nice ... because you are all of those things. I love that you love me ... no matter what.

Happy 7th Birthday to my sweet, sweet Riley.

I love you,
Mama