Will turns nine today. He was born in 1999 in the early afternoon, with a big head and big set of lungs. We had a relatively peaceful labor and birth, following by nearly four years of not so much peace. He was a strong-willed youngster, prone to meltdowns and head-to-head confrontations with...well...me.
In quieter times, he was a funny little boy. He frequently allowed his sister to dress him up -- as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, or a Buzz Lightyear fairy. And he was always walking around in other people's shoes.
A few "Willisms" from the family history books:
MOM: "You're a good boy."
WILL: "Mommy's a good boy too."
MOM: "Who did you play with at school today?"
WILL: "Nobody. I just played with myself, which is named Will. You know that guy, don't you? "You're driving him home right now."
Then there was the time when he burst into tears when we told him he probably couldn't be King when he grows up.
Today, he has returned to a more peaceful person. He's friendly, affectionate, smart, sweet, and observant in ways you don't immediately realize. He has the mind of a steel trap, and he thinks his dad is really funny. His teacher calls him a little old man. But he's only/already nine! Two weeks ago, I dropped him at a birthday party, and for the first time, he wouldn't give me a hug when I left. He actually said, "No, mom" and walked away. So I guess all that's starting.
Today, Tom started the morning off with the Beatles' birthday song. ("Oh no, here comes the song," said Mia.) Will has requested cinnamon rolls for his class treat. And after school, he'll visit the orthodontist and taekwondo studio. A typical day, but one where he can finally be King.