It’s a lazy Sunday, a day of the week when I normally don’t blog and we don’t do many more chores than just feed the chickens. But today is a different kind of Sunday. Today, although we are still being lazy, we are celebrating the greatness, the specialness, the wonderfulness of our two special men. I’ll post about them separately, so here’s to our first special guy today…
Our eldest young man is a teenager today. Our first teenager. I can hardly believe it.
I remember when I was a teen/preteen – and I’ve found it to be true as a mama – that if we want to see into the hearts of our older children, if we want to keep the communication lines open, be there for them in the evenings. Just go hang out with them in the late hours. The evening hours are magic hours, when the hearts of teens and preteens open up for a while.
The other night our big fella and I were chatting as he kneeled on the floor, fiddling with Army men, and I sat on the futon in his room. I told him how sad I am about him growing up and how I just soooo miss that baby and that toddler and that little Kindergartner whom I’ll never see again. This little Kindergartner (taken around 2000):
We were silent for a while and as I watched him move the Army men about, I remembered our fascinating discussion just that afternoon about World War II and the Iraq War and the necessity – or lack of – wars. It occurred to me, then, suddenly, that if I did have that baby or that toddler or that little Kindergartner back, I would terribly miss the 12yo boy, the one on the edge of teenagerhood, who could have long conversations with me on subjects that make me think. I’d miss this boy (taken 2008):
Today is his 13th birthday. There was no point in willing it away; the day came. I’m getting sad again thinking about it. If he’s like his mama and daddy, he’ll be moving out in just 5 years. That’s too soon. There is so much more to teach him, so much more to do, so much more to say.
So much more to hear in those late evening hours.
Happy Birthday, Baby (yes, “baby.” always). I love who you have become in 13 years.
I can’t, and can, wait to see who you become in the future.