because 10 is a big one to walk through.
because there is so much that is big (double digits!) and so much that is small and all of it is wound up tightly into dreams and hopes about tomorrow. today is insufficient when you're 10. tomorrow has all the great stuff.
but his mom remembers the yesterdays and the greatness of so many moments and so watching the 10 fall gently into him is wholly natural and remarkable and confounding. how does time zip by like this?
and there is no good answer to the problem of time except to walk the 18 steps between the living room and his bedroom slowly and with each step recount grace upon grace of the yesterdays and the wonders of what will be in all his tomorrows, praising the God who goes before and after all of the quick seconds that compile a life.
