It's gr8 to be eight!

This past Saturday our family went to a baptism- beautiful girl, beautiful day.  Many, many wonderful moments were experienced. 

Many, many that I have been pondering on all weekend.

One of which I will share here in the hopes of giving hope to moms of wild kids.

Before the actual baptism, a couple women I do not know spoke to the children about to be baptized.  One spoke on baptism and one spoke on the Holy Ghost.

At some point during the second talk, I glanced over at my soon-to-be-eight year old and for some reason was struck by his behavior.

He was sitting still.

He was looking at the speaker.

He was making no noise.

And it hit me- "We have arrived! Hallelujah!"

Less than six years ago Bret and I were describing that trying to keep track of our oldest boy was like handling triplets.

He was everywhere, in everything, on everything, with noise constantly coming out of his mouth as he required his own percussion beat to his life.

That boy was perpetual motion personified.

The poor kid was constantly in trouble.  "Jonz! Don't do that. Jonz! No. Stop. No. Jonz! You can't have that. No. That's not safe. Jonz! No. Get down. No. Joooooonz."

It was quite the challenge to find a way to say some positive things in between all those no's, pleas, and warnings.

He was a fire.cracker.

Teaching him to behave properly in different circumstances (particularly church) was a behemoth undertaking.  The change was gradual and span the entirety of the past seven years. 

At first Jonz spent entire Sacrament meetings screaming on Bret's lap in a separate classroom.

Then Jonz would spend Sacrament meetings walking back and forth between me and Bret, getting in his brothers' faces, beat boxing, sitting down, standing up, sitting, standing, sitting, standing, and every so often trying to sneak past Dad's knee or escape under the pew.

Then he was pounding on his brothers, beat boxing, standing, sitting, standing, sitting, standing, sitting...

Then he was poking his brothers, giggling quietly, standing, sitting, standing, sitting.

Then he was poking his brothers and swinging his feet into the pew.

Then he was occasionally punching a brother or swinging his feet, stopping quickly with a whispered, "Jonz," accompanied by a "look."

The change was so gradual that suddenly we were in the chapel on Saturday and I realized that I hadn't had to chide him.  Not even once.  We went inside, we sat down, and he behaved magnificently!

We. have. arriiiiiiived!

He still needs reminders sometimes and I suspect he will for years to come.  He still runs everywhere while makes noises like a wounded, rampaging dragon.  He is still an energetic boy through and through.

But he has finally gotten to the point that he can control himself without constant intervention from Bret or me. 

There is hope, fellow moms of wild ones!  The perseverance does pay off.  They are learning, even when it takes ten million reminders.  Take heart! 

It is so much easier to have hope for all my boys now that I have seen it's possible with one of them. 

Hal-le-lu-jah.

I am so proud of the young man my Jonz is becoming.  He was once triplets, trying to break out of one little body and stretching my patience thirty feet past its limit.  Now (though he still can stretch my patience) Jonz is my stalwart helper, an excellent example as an older brother, our goofy comic relief, a pleasant companion, and a joy to watch as he continues to learn and grow.

We're looking forward to our own baptism soon and I am so excited to see my son take that first step back to Heavenly Father.

Growing up is exciting:)