Little Prince is growing up.
I like watching him grow up. I like watching his personality develop and become his own person - even if we clash over it sometimes. I like that he knows what he likes (science) and doesn't like (chores.)
I like HIM. (And isn't that somehow different that loving him?)
I'm especially enjoying introducing him to things that have made me who I am.
Reading the Narnia series with him was an emotional experience for me - how he clapped his hands and exploded in laughter when Aslan came back to life - how solemn he became when Edmund asked forgiveness - whooping and punching the air when the White Witch died. Now he's into Harry Potter, and is fascinated with the intricacies of magic and how Tonks can give herself a pig nose. (So am I.)
I find myself crying over this sharing-of-souls. Although tears aren't a normal reaction to telling stories about Snape. But it's knowing that I'm giving him something he will enjoy the rest of his life. Something that I enjoy. Something that makes both of our hearts soar - frees us from the earth and lets our imaginations reach up toward the sky.
There are so many books that have become woven into the very fabric that is me. And to weave them into my son?
There are no words.
Yesterday we sat at the kitchen counter for an hour as I told him the fabulous story that is Les Miserables. (I just finished all 1500 pages.) As I unfolded the tale of Jean Val Jean, we listened to that inspired music together - and the tears rained down.
We had deep discussions about the countless moral dilemmas presented in the novel.The bishop lied about the candlesticks - Fantine and the Thenardies' choices - Javert and "all the evil of good." We covered the French revolution, which led to the Egyptian revolution, which led to the Book of Mormon and discussions on kings and absolute power.
Basically, it was awesome.
Because when it comes down to it, I know exactly what I want to give my son.