Eight is great

I'm falling in love with age eight.

It snuck up on us, but 8 seems to be the age of quintessential, iconic kid-dom. This summer, Edith seems to me to have entered the stage people imagine when they think generically of "kids." In no way a "little" any more, neither a pre-something. The age of kids on a Lands' End catalog, the age for which "family movies" are written, the age of protagonists in children's adventure books.

Edith has shot up several inches and gotten solid, by which I don't mean fat but no longer in any way delicately small. Close family and friends recently have failed to recognize her from a distance. The same transformation happened to her classmates, as one can see in studying the class picture of little girls from last fall compared to the large, confident, active kids who bounded into a birthday party in June.

Eight is a great age.

Eight pursues its own passions. It finds fiction based on its own interests, series unknown to its parents that are nevertheless well-written, elaborate, imaginative and challenging literature....and swallows them up, hour after hour, book after book, all summer long.

Eight starts to be real friends with little sister, albeit in fits and starts. It is happy to attend daycamp with sister and happier when they're in the same mixed-age group. It sings camp songs with sister and discusses the day with her in the car on the way home.

Eight disappears one evening during a company dinner into the other room, where it starts a Monopoly game (having played once before) and teaches little sister the rules. It is patient in laying out the options every step of the way. Little sister is thrilled to be treated like a big kid and responds well. But when she tires of the game, Eight continues to play both hands itself, cheerfully, for two days--every now and then checking in with little sister, who has long since lost interest, to get approval for a major purchase.

Eight balks at doing daily math work during the summer, but at bottom she knows she should, and I think she's glad her parents are holding her feet to the fire. Even when she complains, she winds up completing the task. She seems to have internalized the sense that it's important.

Eight can beat the pants off three generations, not to mention cultures from around the world, in Wise and Otherwise, the Balderdash-style game of false proverbs. Her language is spot on, and her wisdom is often greater than in the actual sayings. I've started collecting hers.

Eight has accumulated insight on daily life as well. For example, "Chocolate is good, but it's messy. You have to learn to take control of it, like ice cream, and not let it take control of you." (Note that this bit of wisdom was offered yesterday in 95-degree weather. Note also that after some 7 years of my liberally quoting Edith on the blog, this was the first time she looked over my shoulder and made sure I got her original words exactly right, editing down to the letter.)

Eight decides to write a novel, then asks if there's something shorter, and settles confidently on a novella. She has no idea what it will be about.

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It strikes me that this type of kid-ness, though casually associated with all childhood, is in fact fleeting. I suspect it may last four years? We'll try to enjoy every minute.