Saturday night, the family was invited, en masse, for dinner at a friend's house. They have three boys, ranging in age from 2.5 to nearly 9. Daughter was so far outnumbered it was pitiful. She had brought prizes and nomination sheets for the Kids' Choice Awards, but the boys could hardly stop roughhousing long enough to glance at the screen. Ultimately, she had her own KCA party in the playroom, screeching from time to time her now-signature "OMG!! OMG!!" whenever her choice won.
The boys were working up a sweat, burying Eldest under cushions, hitting him with pillows, and heaving themselves onto him. It was a vast change from what normally happens. Eldest isn't used to being the oldest in these situations. He's used to being one of the heavers not the heavee. I picture him with Che-Che's former boyfriend and with her current husband. I see him with his cousins from Manchester. I see him with another cousin's husband.
I won't see those images in real time again. To see him throwing himself at these teen boys and young men, I will have to dredge up memories. Or look at Youngest and imagine he is Eldest from years ago.
As is my reaction to all life stage changes, I'm saddened to realize Eldest won't be the young lad showing off anymore. Seeing how happy it made him Saturday night, though, to be the one idolized tempers the sadness. Time marches on as evidenced by the changing of the guard.