It's Great To Be Eight

Eight random things I love about this 8-year old:


I love his hands. There is something adorable about his hands; the way they move, the way he expresses himself with them.

I love that he still holds my hand...in public. His principal was agog when he caught Chase not only holding my hand...in the cafeteria, but also sending me off with a kiss and an "I love you"...in front of his friends. The principal told me to cherish that. I do.

I love that he his named after his Grandpa Glenn. I really, REALLY love that.

I love that this boy watched nearly all of the Harry Potter movies, scary parts and all, without even flinching. The only time he covered his face with a blanket? The kissing parts. LOVE that!

I love how you catch him making a crooked "yikes" face when reading family scriptures and he has to say a "bad" word.

I love how he is a perfectly, down-the-middle, fifty-fifty, Even-Steven split between his dad and I. So far, that makes him a shy, Lego-loving, tool-toting, snoring, football-loving carnivore, perfectly blended with the crafty, goofy, outgoing, dramatic, holiday tradition observing extraordinaire, with a pretty great sense of humor. Sounds pretty fabulous...right?

I love to hear him pray. If you have ever heard him pray, you know what I mean.

I love it when he giggles. It seems especially cute when it is done at a most inappropriate time. Darn it.

I love that he is a rule follower. He takes doing what is right pretty seriously...most of the time. Let's be honest. He is a kid. And a boy. 'Nuff said.

I love that there are so many things to love about this boy that I can't stop at eight. There is just too much to love about him. But, most especially, I love that he is MY boy.

I SERIOUSLY love that.