Eight Is Hard

Last week I overheard eight-year-old Stephen calling five-year-old Joseph a scaredy cat.  I jumped to the little guy's defense.  I reminded Stephen that he, not Joseph, is the one who comes to our room at night frequently with bad dreams.  Stephen sighed a world-weary sigh, and his shoulders sagged dramatically. 

"Mom," he explained sadly, "I've lived a lot longer than Joseph, and I have a lot more experience with this world."

Parents, be warned.  Evidently the years between kindergarten and 2nd grade are a wasteland of joy-sapping despair.