** update 8/26/18 ** The following post — now a week old — is all about Asher. For months now I’ve been meaning to share Asher’s first-ever original story here on my blog… and have never quite gotten around to it… until today. When I wrote the post all about Asher last week, I completely forgot to include a photo of his masterpiece. (I’m blaming mommy-brain.) That first-ever original story (pictured below) has been taped to our refrigerator since he wrote it back in the spring, and I haven’t gotten tired of admiring it yet. When Asher wrote it, he had just been reading some Will James with his dad, so his work is obviously inspired by James’ style. At the time we were working hard on learning about sentences and spelling in our homeschool, and one day he just decided to put some sentences together, and (ta-da!) it became a story. Magical how that works, huh? This scraggly-edged, pencil-smudged beauty makes my heart almost explode with pride. For one thing, the subject matter just makes me giggle. For another, the misspellings make me grin (it’s okay for 7-year-olds to spell phonetically in my world; I didn’t realize until we started teaching our kids to read that the English alphabet defies common sense.) And finally, it makes me so proud to think that Asher is our boy, that he is a good boy, and that we have had the privilege to teach him a few good things: like how to hold a pencil and how to shape letters and how to use his imagination and how to love the West.
Okay, enough about the firstborn! Good stuff coming soon on all our other little loves…
(Original post below.)
I’ve called 7-year-old Asher, our firstborn, by the nickname “Little Man” ever since he was a wee babe. It fits his personality, too. He’s a deep-thinking, big-plans kind of guy who takes his older-brother responsibilities seriously. His topics of interest vary but mostly center around the Old West, the New West, and various methods of making money. For instance, today at lunch, among other questions, he asked how much land costs per acre and then how much land one could buy for a million dollars.
He loves everything old-fashioned. His curiosity is endless, as are his plans for the future.
He likes to rise early — especially before I do — and get right to work. Often he’ll make his bed before he comes into the kitchen. Next, he’ll ask me to help him make a pot of grits and fry two eggs “in the black skillet.” In recent days he’s been climbing the hill behind the barn every morning, just to survey the goings-on at the ranch and, in his own words, “watch the sunrise.” (It hasn’t occurred to him yet that he’s sleeping through the actual sunrise — which is definitely fine with me.) When he’s off on such important business, he always takes along his own personal go-cup — he recognizes it because it’s got the Billings Mustangs baseball team logo on the side — filled halfway with coffee and the rest of the way with water.
Little Emi recently hosted a tea party for some friends and Asher was unsure if he should participate, even though he was tempted by the promise of “crumpets.” He finally agreed to come, though he compromised: “Only if I can drink coffee instead of tea.”
One day early in the spring we were in town and I ran into Subway to grab everyone a sandwich for the drive home. He called out as I hurried in, “Mom, don’t get me the kids’ meal! It’s not enough food!” So he has officially graduated to the six-inch sub. And this summer he won a twenty-dollar bet with his big cousin when he polished off a foot-long. Our little man is not so little as he once was.
He continues to be mesmerized by history, especially that of the Western U.S., and his manner of speaking reflects that. He says things like this: “Do you reckon I should tuck in my shirt?” — which I suspect is not language typical of the 7-year-old crowd. He’s uncomfortable on the monkey bars at the playground because he worries about his shirt coming untucked!
He’s been full of “isms” — wise and witty sayings — since he first started uttering words, and here’s one of his best and most recent: “I wonder if the cave men were like, Uck, I really don’t want to drink this rotten milk, but it was all they had, and then they were like, Mmmmm, this tastes like Greek yogurt!”
He says he’s going to buy a big piece of land as soon as he gets old enough, and he’s going to tear down all the electric poles and fences and stock the grass with Texas Longhorns. Then he and his friends are going to build a town, out of logs, and “where only wagons are allowed.” They’re going to have their own army, too.
His interests earned him a picture in the newspaper recently:
You might’ve noticed he has a uniform. Pretty much wears the same thing every day. In stark contrast to his sisters, who like to change clothes about every two hours.
Speaking of which… I have a mountain of laundry to sort through. Have a great week, everyone!
© Tami Blake