Hovering on the edge of belief

My son is 10 and a 1/2. He's left behind the little kid years, and is dipping his toes into teenagedom.

He faithfully hung up his Christmas stocking this year in the almost-belief that Santa would fill it. But this was also the first year he bought me a gift, hid it from sight, wrapped it, and then carefully placed it under the tree a few days before Christmas. (Santa no longer brings gifts that turn up under the tree it seems.)

Of course Santa could hardly disappoint him and he awoke to a stocking hanging in another part of the house (Santa got confused and swapped the stocking and the fly-swatter around), overflowing with sweet things and small toys.

Later in the day I asked him if Santa had filled his stocking or if I had. He rushed from one view to the other, not quite wanting to give up a belief in the fantasy that is Santa, yet wanting to show he's grown up enough not to believe in fairy-tales. He finally concluded it was a mixture of both, especially as Santa had left a few sweets for me too (I couldn't fit them all in the stocking!).

This is a magical age for me to watch him at. A time when there are still wisps of the little boy around him, yet also flashes of the man he will one day be. A time when he's starting to test his boundaries, but when we still hold on to a special mom/son understanding that many just don't get. I'm reminded each day of how quickly little boys turn into men. This is a time to lock away in my heart and treasure, before it's forever too late.