• Henryisms,  Life as an Anthoine,  My Family,  Writer

    Tales of a Fourth Grade Tween

    I look at him, stomping around the house, being angry about whatever there is to be angry about today. Three minutes later, I watch him slip over to the sofa and sit as close to me as humanly possible without getting back in my womb. He nuzzles his head under my arm and I can feel him relax. Things are changing. Fourth grade is hard. Being almost ten is hard. He’s not a teen, but he’s certainly not a baby anymore. It’s a purgatory area, those tween years, of being immaturely mature and learning to move through life in a bigger way. In the mornings, we fuss. He’d rather lay…