elliot is eight years old

Today is my youngest child, Elliot's eighth birthday. He almost died at birth (here is a story I wrote for a parenting magazine about the support I received when he was so sick and in the NICU).







Elliot is a GREAT kid.




He's in 2nd grade, super athletic, sweet natured, a little hyper at times, and currently fascinated with WWII and "peat bog mummies."






He's extremely charismatic; other children are naturally drawn to him and he's often the center of attention on any group of children.





He's the most "Allison-looking" of my three kids, with sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes (my other two are all Granju, with dark, olive skin and brown eyes - they look just like their father - not a bad way to look, if you ask me).

Having my youngest child turn eight and my oldest currently applying to high schools for next year makes me feel sort of weird. Because I had my children pretty young, I've defined myself as the mother of young children for all of my adult life. And now I find mine growing up just as many of my friends have babies, toddlers and preschoolers.