To Paul: this is how you spent the day you turned 7 years and 1 month old.

You start the day as usual: with pancakes and Wings of Fire. At 7, we hustle you gently to get ready to walk out the door, and you get your shoes on while I refill your water bottle. We walk to school together, noticing the shortening days. The sun isn’t quite up yet, but the clouds are pink. It’s still hot, but not miserable. The weather is finally changing.

You administer hugs all around at the bridge, and bounce on ahead to enter on your own. As far as we know it’s a good day. You have PE and rack up 10K steps. Your teacher Ms. Pleasants gives you two “on task” points, and I hear no horror stories. You’ve been rowdy in class lately, most recently playing tag with friend Jaden during lessons. Not cool. You’re working on it.

Dad picks you up at the end of the day, and you walk home in the 90-degree temperatures we’re grateful for. Per our new schedule, on Tuesdays you and I hang out. I take you to Cidercade for an hour of skee ball and some sort of  2-player fighter pilot game. You’re basically in heaven.

Back home, Dad has cooked dinner, and we eat together. Afterward, you and Annie play with silly string in the side yard and clean up all the pieces. You take a bath, which I terminate after you slosh an inordinate quantity of water out of the tub. You and Dad read a book about Zelda lore. I read the first chapter of Winnie the Pooh aloud to both of you, and then a Tinkerbell story (“The Fairy Berry Bake-Off”) at your request. We say goodnight at 7:35. You snuggle up with your lovies and head towards sleep.