Life is short, the years rush past, A little boy grows up so fast

I'm almost a month late for my birthday post about my super special third son, but with four boys in my life, late is the new early for us. We spent another glorious week in Destin as Tate celebrated being 7 years old and being lucky enough to spend each of those birthdays on the beach. Seriously, how lucky can one get? He rode go carts at The Track, saw Finding Dory, and had his birthday request for spaghetti served up with a side of DP. He opened all of his cards from his family that arrive in the mail and finally got to see his BIG present from Mom and Dad-- and it didn't disappoint. He drove his RC car all around the house and condos and flipped it, rammed it, and may have even taken out a toe or two of mine, all in the name of birthday fun. He finished off his big day with a late night swim, a bike ride with his brothers, and plenty of hugs and kisses from me!

So now that I've relived Tate's big day in detail, I'd like to "relive" Tate in detail and make a little running list of all the blogworthy qualities etched in my mind the last seven years.

First, it wasn't all sunshine and roses-- that baby would. not. sleep. Ever try having a newborn during a stressful football season? I wouldn't recommend it. Many nights when Coach K. had had a particularly trying week of practice and/or had a rough game looming, I took to the roads at odd hours of the night to get the crying, whining, angel out of earshot. Not sure what happened, but that night owl sleeps like a boss and has made those famous words- this too shall pass- my mantra.

But once we cleared that hurdle of sleeplessness, the sun did shine and the roses bloomed and they're still blooming and shining as I write this!

Oh what an angel, what a doll, what a precious, precious child I've been entrusted. This child makes the sweetest gifts (even if it's not your birthday), he loves to help in the kitchen with pancakes and cracking eggs, he loves to share (namely my phone, my cokes, and my money😉), and he takes care of his baby brother Truett better than anyone I could have trained. He changes diapers, fixes sippy cups, finds the perfect shows on TV, and has become the name most called for in the mornings!

What I think I love most, though, is that this child never stops talking. Like, never. Like, #howdohisteachersdoit? #ihaventfiguredouthowtohushhim. Either way, we have all learned to love the constant questions, the constant observations, and the constant conversation from the backseat. I see great things in the future from this little guy, based simply on the fact that his questions STUMP me sometimes. Some days, ok, many days, he comes up with something either so deep or so scientific that I can't even FAKE a good answer. More often than I'd like to admit, I've resorted to a simple, "I don't know, buddy," or "let's google it when we get home."

I guess maybe it's the fact that I have a son heading to high school in a couple of weeks that's swift kicked me in the pants and made me realize that we only get so many of those back seat conversations, so many early morning breakfasts, and so many evenings snuggled on the couch watching some HORRIBLE Disney or Nickolodeon comedy that they find hilarious. It dawns on me a little more each day that we only have so many years when they really are shorter than me, slower than me, and not as strong as me. I watched from a distance the other day as the oldest two boys threw the football, and from where I stood, they were not the little boys in the backyard I knew, but real teenagers practicing for something big.

Now that he's seven, Tate begins HIS football career in tackle football and will slowly start chasing those big brothers on the field and in all the other things that they get to do but he's always "too little" for. I thinks it's hitting me with the school year coming and the football schedules on my calendar that I may wake up one day and watch from the top of a hill, not my little boy in the backyard, but another teenager who is taller than me, faster than me, and stronger than me, following in so many footsteps before him, hurrying to become them.

For now, though, I have a chatty, curious seven year old who likes to throw the football with his mom and, for now, thinks I'm a pretty good receiver. And I'm holding on tightly to that. And to him. And to the other two perched on the edge of the nest, anxiously waiting for their turns to fly.