George turns 8.

As Matt and I sat, listening to George's teacher discuss his progress, we glanced throughout the room, noticing all the 2nd grade classroom art and various decor. Directly behind the teacher was a large billboard of adorable pink pigs, relatively uniform in their construction. Clearly, the children were given pre-cut pieces for each of the body parts, and potentially shown an example of how one should/could assemble them (which was the pig with it's head situated on the right, facing you, attached to a standing profile of the body.) Though each pig had its own little flair of uniqueness, they were all relatively identical.

With the exception of one pig.

This pig was sitting on it's rump, it was squarely facing you, it's body behind it, and it's tail behind that. This pig seemed happy, and content, and really not anything like a rebel. Just, simply different from the others.

Maybe this pig didn't listen to the instructions?
Maybe this pig did, and just didn't feel like facing the right, today.
Maybe this pig heard everything, actually wanted to follow instructions, really tried, but for some reason, signals just get crossed. What goes in, does not necessarily come back out as we all expected.

As if, maybe, instructions go through some sort of jumbler.

I'll give you zero guesses on who's pig was sitting, staring us directly in the face.

Since his birth, George has done things *not quite* right. (Literally. He actually came out "sunny side up" - aka upside down.) Though we always attributed this to his goofy nature...we've actually never been quite sure if his antics are purposeful or a happy mistake. I'm not sure he knows either.

His faces. The way he talks. The words he uses. The way he holds a pencil. The way he dresses. His accessories. His ideas. His stories.

{I think people take psychedelic drugs to bend and warp the world around them to see what George sees naturally.}

Of all my children, he is the one I've worried most about sending to Catholic school. Or, pretty much any school. He's as square a peg as I've ever seen...and we are trying to send him through a round hole.

He's smart. He's kind. He's funny. He has friends. He's compassionate (so much so, he's won this virtue twice.) His teachers love and appreciate him.

He's CREATIVE. So incredibly, naturally, accidentally creative. It's as if every experience involves all 5 senses for him. You will never see George simply eat a meal with a spoon or fork. His fingers get involved somehow, his face, his clothes...a slotted spoon, a straw...you just never really know.

I don't worry about his success, or making his way in this world.

I do worry about crushing his spirit. Seems that's the only way to get a square peg through a round hole - you know - to crush it a bit.

George turns 8 this week. I want nothing more than for him to continue to enjoy this life to the fullest! I don't want him to see it as a bunch of difficult, stringent hurdles he's being forced to jump. I also want him to find a way to fit in, just enough, to get through those round holes without losing his shape.

Gosh, I just love that kid and his incredibly distinctive peculiarities.

I mean, and maybe I'm just partial to the misfits, but long before I knew the fat, front facing, sitting pig was his, I knew it was my favorite.