Sasha

And then there's this guy.

Sasha just turned nine.  He did not get a sweet little blog post about it.  His birthday was awesome.  But Mother's Day was a surprisingly difficult day for him, and then that spun right into the birthday preparation and the end of the school year angst, and frankly, we were all just holding on for dear life for awhile there.  

His sister got him a stuffed Husky.  Family friends got him a scooter.  I made him a cake to order: vanilla cake with vanilla frosting and chocolate filling.  We topped it with the first fresh Oregon strawberries of the season.  

One of the many amazing things about Sasha is his creativity.  He is the master of mixed media collage work.  This was made for the big kid down the block.  Sasha plays with the sister, who's his age, quite a bit, but every once in awhile her 14 year old brother grants Sasha a skateboarding hang-out session.  That's Big Kid on the skateboard, with buttons as the wheels, and colored-on masking tape for the road, and the sky is glittery and tinselly from the joy of it all.  I love that he makes stuff up based on available materials and what he wants to say, instead of thinking art is supposed to look like what other kids do.  

We went on our first hiking trip of the year on the first day of their vacation.  There were five kids: ours, their cousin, and a friend with her two.  Sasha was the only kid who did not whine once (even the discovery of this blister was met with good cheer).  He would have kept going longer too.

He loves his stuffed animals.  When he smacked some of them around during the middle of a tempter tantrum recently, he went back later and made it up to them by giving them all sleigh rides in a cardboard box.  He also loves to be tickled, getting backrubs, and wild swinging--any strong physical sensation.  He's a builder, a scientist, and a speed demon.  He's got a quick wit and makes me laugh frequently.  He's willing to try new foods, but is always convinced he'll hate new experiences.  He torments his sister nearly unceasingly, which makes those times when he happily plays with her, or nonchalantly does her a favor, even sweeter.  His nickname is T Rex, because he is such an enthusiastic carnivore.  He's learned to enjoy hugs and kisses.  He's afraid of the dark, but not much else.

He smells.  His carefully timed eruptions can literally clear the room.  Then he grins and says, "What can I say?  I'm a skunk!"

He has a scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks like stars.

He's our boy.