The weekend before he turned 8, we had a beautiful day and Mr. P had an ugly mood and he was sent outside to the swing. By the time I joined him, he was feeling much better, remarking on how lovely and warm it was and how nice it was to swing. I had a turn and he pushed me while we chatted and then he sat in my lap and we lulled back and forth, eyes three-quarters shut against the brightness and faces relaxing in the warmth of the sun.
Aging was on his mind, with his birthday coming up, and we talked about college and how old he would be when he had to go and whether maybe he could not go at all. Or maybe, I told him, he could go to college but live at home or live near home. Or maybe, he asked, did colleges have rooms you didn't have to share?
It was a lovely time out of the everyday, which I so thoroughly enjoyed that the slight nausea from all that swinging and spinning was definitely worth it.