My seven year old has, without a doubt, a very old soul. I should have known that when he decided that 3 June (his initial due date) was not good enough and that he will stay put until the 5th of July. Also the big frown on his face when he eventually emerged should have been a tell-tale sign as well.
A week or so ago he got very upset with me for interupting him mid-sentence. “You and my dad always think you know what I want to say, but you know, I have a mind of my own that works very very well. Sometimes I want to say something else and that is way I am so misunderstood”. Oh my, I thought this only started at 16!
Last night when I got home he proudly proclaimed that he intends to change his name to Master Jim. He thought it would suit him better that the one we agonized over for weeks and caused a huge family tiff. I explained to him that it is not as simple as just changing it. You have to be 18 and apply in the Government Gazette etc. “Oh” was the only reply I got and I figured “Mmm, that was easy”. I should have known better…
5 minutes later he came to me phone book in the one hand and pen and paper in the other: Mommy, I’ll start writing the application, while you find the number, the numbers are way to small and becides, I don’t know the president’s name.
After a long, long discussion, we came to the agreement that, for now he will keep his name in public and at home he shall henceforth be referred to as Master Jim. That settled then.
We are moving into our new house. Same town, just a bit closer to work and bigger and cheaper. Paying for a view when you only get home after dark just was not doing it for us anymore!
We started packing up the car with whatever small things we can fit in there and took off. While driving, we here him talking in all sorts of different accents. I looked back to see him translating the conversation between his teddy bears. At seven he owns 7 teddy bears, each with his own name and don’t you dare get a name wrong (“teddy bears have feelings too, you know”). Turns out Mr Fluffy Love was telling Mr Petty Bones that he is afraid of moving to the new house because he is scared there might be monsters. I don’t beat around the bush, so I asked him straight out whether he was scared of moving to the new house. He immediately gave me his straight upper lip look and said “you are confused mommy, it’s not me, it’s Mr Fluffy Love”. After another long talk about the new house and the tree in the garden with the tyre swing and the vegetable patch and the dog (that he’s wanted for so long), Mr Fluffly Love decided that it’s not such a bad thing after all.
He’s already in love with the place and have put in an order for a TV for his room as well as “huge pictures of girls on bikes”…