Raising Teenagers: 5 Reasons Why I Like Teens More Than Toddlers

“She had been a teenager once, and she knew that, despite the apparent contradictions, a person's teenage years lasted well into their fifties.”
― Derek Landy

Thing 2 and Thing 1: Busch Gardens 2015

Recently, Things 1 and 2 accompanied me on our Annual Great Spring Break Amusement Park Adventure.  For the past 7 years, we have raced, spun, screamed and catapulted for a day or two at Carowinds, Busch Gardens, Kings Dominion and Six Flags Over Georgia.

It hasn't always been easy.

The first year, Thing 2 couldn't even ride the big rides (even though he desperately wanted to) and Thing 1 couldn't have cared less about the rides or the Great Adventure.  I have wheedled and pleaded and begged these children over the years to embrace the Great Adventure and understand the magic that happens on road trips.  They have steadfastly refused to participate in my reindeer games.  I have been irritated and tired and far more cranky than I should but I have steadfastly refused to give up this tradition I created out of thin air in desperation to give these two kids whose lives I managed to ruin by divorcing their dad (OK, so a few guilt issues there...) a few bright and happy memories of their Part-Time Life with Mom.

This year, it all came together.

Yes, there was eye-rolling.  And irritation.  And boredom.  And it was MAGIC.  I realized this year that my kids have finally become more like...well...me.  They are no longer the short people I can't fathom.  They are eye-level purveyors of wit, sarcasm and barbed zingers who eat when they're hungry, drink when they're thirsty and sleep when they're tired.  Practically adults.

I started thinking about WHY I seem to love them SO MUCH MORE now that they're big kids in adult clothing.

1. They don't need me as much.  I'm just not one of those people who need to be needed.  I prefer that you take care of your own business and leave me to mine.  Every now and again we can meet in the middle to discuss life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  Things 1 and 2 can take care of their own bodily functions.  They can fix a sandwich.  They don't ask me constant questions about why, who, where, what, when that I (mostly) patiently answered when they were toddlers.  
2.  They fight sarcasm with sarcasm.  Admittedly, I started using sarcasm well before these two were probably ready for it.  Sure, I TRIED the syrupy sweetness of parenting when they were younger.  (Fine, I didn't try terribly hard.)  But, as they grew taller, my sarcasm grew stronger.  Now, these two are teaching me a thing or two.  Their sarcasm seems somehow kinder than mine.  So, I'm learning a few gentle techniques to launch barbs and zingers into the crowd.  Thanks, Thing 1 and Thing 2. Grasshoppers, you are ready (sniff...so proud!).
3. They can entertain themselves.  At the end of a long day at the park, I showered and dove into bed with a novel.  We talked a bit but, for the most part, they were content to absorb themselves in their own pursuits so I could happily ignore them to unwrap a few chapters of the book I had been waiting to get back to all day.
4. They are introspective.  While Thing 2 shot ahead, Thing 1 and I were able to stroll leisurely together and talk about what's going on in his life.  I learned a lot in these few magical snippets of conversation.  He's introverted so, trust me, I take every opportunity to let him come to me.  I appreciate so much his point of view on things and his thoughtful consideration of things that I had no idea he was even aware of.   
5. I enjoy their company.  They have their own ideas.  They disagree with me on...well...a LOT of topics.  But I respect those disagreements.  These two are not an extension of me; rather, they are two completely separate and mysterious beings who I (somehow) was blessed with ushering into the world.

Don't get me wrong.  I have attempted to pause and breathe and enjoy every bit of this life I have been given with these two.  I made choices along the way to parent intentionally and to engage with them throughout every stage.  I managed the baby years.  I navigated the toddler years as best I could.  I plugged away during the childhood years.  But, these teenage years?  To me, they are simply awe-inspiring as I watch them take all those building blocks of life and put them together in a way that's entirely different from what I could have ever anticipated or imagined.  They're not who I thought they would be; they are so much more.

The days continue to be long and the years are so very, very short.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

Things I Think On Road Trips

“because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars...”
― Jack Kerouac

I do a lot of traveling alone.  Mostly, I travel for work but I also have been known to simply get into my car and drive.  North.  South.  It doesn't matter much to me as long as the road is my faithful companion.

The problem with traveling alone as an extrovert is that, well, there is no one to talk to.  I have been known to have long (and, I have to admit, absolutely fascinating) conversations with myself as I speed past highway signs, billboards, and annoying motorists driving slowly in the passing lane.  

As I drove along today, I made notes to myself (talking to that bastard Siri).  I wanted to be sure that I captured the true essence of a road trip alone.  I'm pretty sure after you read this, you'll want to go ahead and sign up for my next trip.  Don't be shy.

Welcome to my stream of consciousness.  (You're welcome.)

1.  Meghan Trainor is an ass-kicker. OK, so Meghan Trainer is a baby.  She was born after I was an adult and I totally want to be her.  I was listening to her song to her future husband.  She told him, "Hey listen, I work, too.  And I am not going to cook.  That's just not something I'm good at.  And I expect you to pull your weight in this relationship.  And here's what I deserve.  And you're just going to have to accept it.  But, hey, if you treat me right, I'm going to be a great wife.  And I'll make you happy.  But this is not a one-way street."  This from the same girl who brought booty back.  I am in awe.  Her self-confidence is enviable.

2.  It takes approximately three hours to go full-circle on the Fleetwood Mac station on Pandora.  I was listening to songs that apparently just hummed over and around my brain but whose lyrics never really stuck.  I hummed happily along and burst into loud vocals when the chorus hit.

3.  Speaking of lyrics, what in the hell do the lyrics to Elton John's Tiny Dancer mean?  "Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.  Count the headlights on the highway.  Lay me down in sheets of linen.  You had a busy day today."  Was Elton high?  How is the Tiny Dancer holding him close if they're on the highway?  And do they have a bed in the back seat where the linens are kept?  And how did Tiny Dancer's day come into the picture?  Is the Tiny Dancer a mini-ballerina?  I just kept picturing a palm-sized angry chick in a pink tutu doing laundry.

4.  There may not be a single Starbucks between Concord, NC and Savannah, GA.  I looked.  Hard.  At one point, I asked Siri.  He responded,  "Listen, Princess, (side note: yes, I asked Siri to call me "Princess."  And, yes, Siri is a dude in my phone.) there is a Starbucks.  But you'd have to go north 29 miles."  Listen, even people who barely know me understand that coffee is actually the main component in my blood stream.  I NEED coffee like meth heads need...well...meth.  I had to settle for travel center Dunkin' Donuts coffee.  Starbucks people, are you listening?  Off-highway Starbucks locations are not optional.  They are a necessity.

5.  Travel centers are my dream.  I truly do want to be a female truck driver.  I think I would be a fabulous truck driver.  But I need a handle.  Do truckers even use CBs anymore?  I wonder if I could have a special horn as a truck driver.  I also think it would be fabulous to use the showers at the travel center.  I'm half tempted to use them even now and I'm NOT EVEN DIRTY.

6.  Driving drunk will cost you $10,000.  I learned that from a highway billboard.  Unfortunately, if you are drunk and reading that billboard, it's already too late for you.

7.  Which brings me to adult superstores.  I put this one on Facebook today.  Why are so many adult superstores advertised on billboards?  Are random people driving down the highway thinking, "You know, I could really use a blow-up doll, some handcuffs and some cherry flavored underwear. Oh, LOOK.  There's an adult superstore conveniently located just off the highway! Bonus!"

8.  Do people wash their cars on road trips?  I'll be honest:  I rarely wash a car.  Stella has been bathed maybe three...four times in the entire time I've owned her.  I believe the rain usually does the trick.  I mean, why on earth do we HAVE rain if not to serve as nature's car wash?  So, I saw a lot of cars from north of the Mason Dixon which were FILTHY. They'd obviously been through a lot of terrible weather and I felt sorry for them (though not as sorry as I feel for all the people who are still in the weather).  But, THEN, I saw this car from Nova Scotia.  You KNOW the weather is for crap there.  And yet...THAT car was spotless.  Did he stop at a car wash?  Was he like, "Hey, I think I'll stop for a sandwich and a car wash"?  If so, why is not in a hurry to get where he's going?  Is he sad to be going south?  Can he not wash his car at the end of the trip?

9. The farther south you go, the more you see billboards for communities for "active, older adults."  Listen, as far as I can tell, the real active older adults are those ones with the dirty cars north of the Mason Dixon.  Those buggers are out shoveling and trying to stay warm and alive.   That's where the billboards need to be.

10.  When did people start moving over to the other lane for stopped police vehicles?  When I was little, I don't remember anyone moving over to the left lane to give the police room.  Now, everyone is like, "Whoa!  We need to get over!  That car is stopped 15 feet over on the shoulder!"  I mean, it's polite.  But when did it start?  Was there some rulebook distributed that I'm not aware of?

And it went on.  And on.  And on.  For five hours.  I talked (out loud) and sang and even danced a little.  (To answer your question, it is not as easy to do the Cupid Shuffle while driving as it is to enact the Zumba moves to "You need a BAD GIRL to blow your mind...bang bang into the room...")  And I was sorry that I was all alone.   Because I obviously needed to share.

You're welcome.  Again.

And, hey, happy 2015.  Let's talk.  It's been too long, really.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

Moments of Grace

“It is the tenderness that breaks our hearts. The loveliness that leaves us stranded on the shore, watching the boats sail away. It is the sweetness that makes us want to reach out and touch the soft skin of another person. And it is the grace that comes to us, undeserving though we may be.”
― Robert Goolrick

I was up this morning before dawn, bustling around in my cozy kitchen, feeding the animals, making coffee and stirring up a batch of fresh chocolate chips cookies so that a little bit of mama love can go into the boys' lunches today.  As I watched the butter and sugar cream together in the Bright Red Kitchen Aid Artisan Stand Mixer, I found myself grinning.  I was just standing there, smiling like a fool, into the beginnings of my batter.   And then I began to pray a small, completely insufficient prayer of thanks while enumerating all the reasons I have to be joyful. And then I thought to myself, "Why not write all these down?  That way, in the inevitable moments of darkness, you can reach back to this list and remember why life is so beautiful."

Done.

Reasons to be Joyful

• Two sleeping boys upstairs are healthy, mostly happy, and, most important to me, safe.  They sleep peacefully every night without ever fearing.  They have lived their lives in love without shouting and violence. 
• The flowers on my kitchen table that represent the man who loves me in spite of the fact that I am often unlovable.  I am thankful that he can see past my grumpy mood swings, my inability to logically consider almost any question, my insistence on being unreasonably happy about holiday cups at Starbucks and my utter lack of concern over the filthiness of my home or car.   I am grateful that he always remembers and acts on the little things that make me happy.
• My furry creatures give me far more joy than many people find reasonable. 
• I am a different woman than I was 10 years ago, 5 years ago, even 6 months ago.  I am so thankful for the ability to change my mind, my thoughts, my life.
• I can stir chocolate chops into my cookie dough with a beautiful, smooth wooden spoon.  
• My limbs are all still working.  My knees are creaky and my body aches more than it probably should on a winter morning, but I am healthy.  
• I have electric lights to illuminate my pre-dawn hours.
• My heat is working and more than sufficient to keep us warm and safe from the coming winter.
• I have work that I enjoy and that pays me enough to do the things I need to do for my family and to have a little bit of fun every now and again.
• I live in an area where it's a little cold in the winter, a little hot in the summer and a whole lot of fabulous in the spring and fall.  
• I live in a country where I can benefit from education, where I have the freedom to speak my mind,  and where I can rest assured that, even though it will never be perfect, there will always be people striving to change lives for the better.
• I love, and am loved by, far more people than one person deserves to have.  I am grateful for the many people who weave in and out of my life, creating a bright tapestry of friendship and love to keep me believing that people, at their core, are usually kind, generous and loving.
• There will always be more reasons to be joyful.

The list went on and on, all the way down to things like really great water pressure, drawers that slide smoothly in and out, and the fruit on the beautiful handmade pottery platter (a little plug for Stephen Dean) on my kitchen table where the cat is currently nestled (I promise I will clean the table before we eat).

I know that your list of joyful things may be different...but I also know you have one.  I hope you can take a few moments today and appreciate those little things that make it all worth it.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

Total Mom Guilt

"Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time."   -Veronica Roth, Divergent

They have fun, right?

Before I left on this most recent business trip, my youngest said to me (jokingly, I hope), “If you leave baked goods for us, we’ll remember that you love us.”

I left for California early on Sunday morning, a time when many families are having breakfast and preparing for worship together.  My broken-homed kids were at their dad’s house.  The day before, I had spent in a whirlwind.  I cleaned my house, dropped bake sale items off at the high school, ran errands, took my visiting mother to breakfast, attempted to assemble a bookcase, baked two loves of pumpkin bread and Halloween cupcakes (complete with spider and gruesome hand toppers because deep down, I kind of believed what Thing 2 said about the baked goods) and volunteered at the band competition until 9:30 pm.  When I came home, I cleaned a little more, stuffed money into an envelope for my pet-sitter, started packing my bags and crossed a couple of last-minute work items off my list.  When I finally fell into bed, exhausted, at midnight, I set my alarm for 4 a.m. so I could get up and finish my packing before my early flight. 

I then set off across the country, worked in the airport and on the flight (on a Sunday, no less) and tried to remember what I had forgotten to leave for the window contractors who were coming to my house in my absence.   I raced from the airport directly to a trade show.  Then back to my hotel room to finish a presentation my boss needed for Monday morning.   I fell asleep sitting up in my hotel room with my laptop open after what amounted to a 16-hour workday.

I forgot to put money in my kids’ lunch account so I got an abbreviated text from my eldest.  “Put money on my lunch account.”  OK.  Done.  I tried to ignore the guilt for missing picking him up from band practice and my youngest son’s double and stolen home base at the baseball game.  Mondays are MY days, after all.  I should have been there.

It seems as if my life is often a series of  “I should have” or “I have to” or “I’m going to” or “I need to” phrases.  I spend much of my time feeling guilty for not working enough, not paying enough attention to my kids, not cleaning my house well enough, not weeding my garden, not cleaning my car, not taking my dogs on walks, not making the decision to put my poor elderly cat to sleep…the list goes on and on and on.

So I bake.  I clean.  I shuffle.  I run.  I cajole. I volunteer when I can.  I work hard to keep the guilt at bay.  And I do a little bit here and a little bit there but I never do anything really well. I often think that we women REALLY SHOWED THEM when we started working outside the home.  We managed to get the full time jobs outside the house while maintaining a full load in the house.  We juggle marriage (well, not me so much anymore), kids, jobs, household duties and extracurricular activities while lamenting (bragging?) to each other about how busy we are. 

I am overloaded with the stress.  I don’t even do half of what many of my friends do.  And still I am burdened by all the guilt above compounded by the fact that I am not giving my kids what they really need:  me.  Because what they need, when it comes down to it, isn’t baked goods.   What they need, more than anything, is their parents.

Meanwhile, I’m 30,00 feet over Memphis.  For now, the cupcakes will have to do the trick.   I am on my way, boys.  I am on my way.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

The Lunatic Baker (Or, Why I Woke Up at 2:30 A.M. To Bake a Pound Cake)

“The measuring and mixing always smoothed out her thinking processes - nothing was as calming as creaming butter - and when the kitchen was warm from the oven overheating and the smell of baking chocolate, she took final stock of where she'd been and where she was going. Everything was fine.”
― Jennifer Crusie

I received an unexpected gift yesterday.  It wasn't my birthday.  I hadn't done anything particularly deserving.  But when my Guy had me close my eyes and he opened up the back of his Man Station Wagon (it's a sport model), I had no idea that he had purchased a Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer.  For me.

The Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer has always been a dream of mine.  (I know, you're probably reading this thinking, "I've had a stand mixer for years.  Pfft.  No biggie.")  But it IS a biggie.  A VBD (Very Big Deal), if you will.  See, the Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer represents more than just a mixer for me.  It's my Someday tool.

I love to bake.  It calms me after a stressful day.  I love the way the house smells when I'm crafting up something yummy in the kitchen.  And olfactory memories are strong ones...I want my boys to remember growing up in a house that smells of cookies and cakes and...well...love.  For many, many years (19, to be exact), I have used the hand mixer my mother gave me as a wedding present.  I've loved that hand mixer.  It has seen me through stiff meringues, chunky chocolate chip cookies, thick butter cookies for my new cookie press and the beginning (and end) of my marriage.  It's been a great mixer.  It does the trick.  So much so that spending a Veritable Fortune for a Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer just never made sense.

So, I told myself this:  "Someday.  Someday you will buy yourself the Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer as a special present JUST FOR YOU.  Maybe it will be because you do something extraordinary like not forgetting to shut and lock the back door before bed.  Maybe it will be because you finally finished writing that book.  Maybe it will be because you're just SO DAMN AWESOME.  But, someday, you will buy that ridiculously extravagant Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer.   And you will BAKE."  

Someday hasn't arrived yet. I just have never been able to justify the expense.

But, yesterday, due to...I don't know what it was...maybe the cool fall weather?  I looked especially fetching last week with my runny nose?  Just because?...my Guy purchased the Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer.

I am going to have to remember to be extra special nice to that Guy because a) he loves me enough to buy me the RIGHT COLOR (red is really the only color that matters to me) b) he knows me enough to know that this gift would send me over the moon and c) he didn't even wait for a holiday.  [Disclaimer:  I get equally excited over the Atomic Fireballs he hands over in church on Sunday mornings, so he knows that he doesn't have to be Ridiculously Extravagant to win any affection from me.]

So, yesterday I rushed home, excited to use my Brand New Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer.

And life got in the way.  I was busy picking up kids, getting groceries, supervising homework, printing Thing 2's school project that, before I knew it, 10 p.m. had rolled around.  I was EXHAUSTED.  And a little cranky.  And I didn't want my Very First Baking Experience with my lovingly purchased Dream Machine to be rushed or stressful. 

I rested my hand carefully on top of the Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer and said, "I'm going to take a little nap.  But I'll be back."

So, I set my alarm for 2:30 a.m.  And, at 2:30 a.m., I woke up like I was 6 years old again and Christmas morning had arrived.  I raced downstairs and made a cup of coffee (hello, I still have SOME sanity left...I know what's important).  And then I carefully washed the parts of my new mixer.  And I read the operating instructions.  And I assembled the butter, the sugar, the eggs, the flour.  I juiced some lemons.  I installed the splash shield.  I finally figured out how to install the mixing paddle.

And I mixed.

I oohed and aahed over the blending.  I walked away from it while it creamed butter and sugar.  I listened to the whirring of the motor.

It was everything I dreamed it would be.

I'm sitting here now smelling deliciously baked lemony goodness.  And I know my boys are upstairs in their sleep smelling the good smell of love wafting from the kitchen.  I have my coffee and my dogs.  That Bright Red KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer is a part of the living dream.

Go out there and bake something today.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

Backpacking is for Girls

“It had nothing to do with gear or footwear or the backpacking fads or philosophies of any particular era or even with getting from point A to point B.

It had to do with how it felt to be in the wild. With what it was like to walk for miles with no reason other than to witness the accumulation of trees and meadows, mountains and deserts, streams and rocks, rivers and grasses, sunrises and sunsets. The experience was powerful and fundamental. It seemed to me that it had always felt like this to be a human in the wild, and as long as the wild existed it would always feel this way.”
― Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail

On Saturday, we hiked.  My Guy and I strapped all that we would need for 24 hours on our backs and we ventured with Sparky and Mr. McDougal in to the wilderness.

The great majority of my friends do not understand my propensity to head for the trees.  There are no creature comforts out in the woods except for a warm fire, a cozy sleeping bag and a dry tent.  My friends prefer climate control, real mattresses and wine in a glass instead of in an aluminum trail mug. And, overall, I wouldn't want to live that way EVERY DAY but I find that going to the woods every now and again brings me back to my center.

I am fascinated by trail hiking, especially long-distance hikers who wax nostalgically about "finding themselves" over many body-crushing miles on the Appalachian Trail or the Pacific Crest Trail.  They write about mutilated feet, scorching heat, unbearable cold and the kindness of strangers on the trail.  They recite scores of stories about long days hiking with only the thought of how much physical pain they were in.  They remember being scared, lonely, worried, tired, and sick of themselves.  I immerse myself in their stories, walking alongside them in my mind.

How I long to be one of them.

Odds are, I'll never be a thru-hiker.  As it is, we take some pretty short trips because my knees simply can't take the load in their current state.  But I suck up the pain of my arthritis-riddled joints because I cannot bear to not do it.  There is something so satisfying about carrying a heavy load up a mountain, making camp, finding wood to make a fire and sitting by a river or a stream filtering water for drinking.  It's primal.  And soul-repairing.  It doesn't have to be a long journey.  It just has to be...away.  Away from smart phones and tvs and cars and stores and ads and "I want" and "I need" and "Could you?" and lawns to be mowed and every single other item that demands your attention every moment of every day.

Sometimes, it's just good to be away.  Really, truly AWAY.

I sat there on Sunday morning perched on a large flat rock in the middle of a stream.  The temperature was just under 40 degrees Fahrenheit and I could see my breath in the beams of early morning sunlight streaming through the trees.  I yawned and rubbed my eyes before I put the plastic tubing of the water filter into the icy water.  As I slowly pumped the water through the filter into our Nalgene bottle, I became intentional in my appreciation for this planet, this life, my friends and family and for the many things I tend to take for granted every day.  I sat there on that rock in the frigid cold before I ever even had one drop of morning coffee and I thanked God for everything I have, everything I am and everything I have yet to learn.

It was a beautiful time of worship.  And I can't wait to get back there again.  Join me?  You know you want to... 

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

Learning to Let Go: A Mother's Story

“The best way to keep children at home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant, and let the air out of the tires.”
― Dorothy Parker

This morning, I dropped Thing 1 off at the high school so he could go with his marching band to a competition a few towns over.  He got out of the car, gathered his things, and then looked me in the eye and, with his deep manly voice, said, "OK, then.  I'll see you later."

Thing 1 walks off into the sunrise

I drove away a little teary-eyed.  I'm often not sentimental about traditional milestones that I'm SUPPOSED to be weepy over.  I didn't cry when he went to kindergarten.  It didn't bother me when he went to middle school.  But, now...these days he's needing me less and less.  He's out there doing his own thing.  His world is his own.  And it hits me every so often that my Big Job as a mom is almost done.  He's almost baked.

This morning, he got up before I even thought to go and rouse him.  He came downstairs and proceeded to pack his lunch with nary a reminder from me.  He consulted his list and gathered all the items he needed for the day.  As he stood eye-to-eye with me, we discussed how best to pack and where he could put his spending money so he could have access to it (and not, as I always fear, lose it and have no money to eat!). 

He's growing up.  All those motherly worries come back to me.  Does he have faith?  Can he withstand the storms of life on his own?  What if someone hurts him?  Have we taught him well? What if he fails?

I worry because the child's head is quite often in the clouds.  He missed the bus just a couple of weeks ago not because he was late to the stop, but because he was daydreaming when the bus pulled up.  He stood there, lost in his own world, while the GIANT YELLOW SCHOOL BUS picked up his classmates and moved along.  He's not prepared to go out on his own!  This child NEEDS a mother.

He's been mine from day one.  We learned about life together.  I had no idea how to be a mother and he was new to the world.  I was fortunate to be able to stay home with him as an infant.  I cried when he cried.  I tried to sleep in the few minutes when he would sleep.  We left the house every morning together in pursuit of the day's Great Adventure and I talked and talked and talked.  Knowing who he is now, I must have driven him bat-shit crazy as a child.  I'm almost positive he cried so much because he simply couldn't take so much interaction--touching, holding and talking. 

He's out on his own today.  He's building his own life and dreaming his own dreams.  And I, as I should, am standing on the sidelines cheering him on, quietly.  His life is not mine.  And my role now is to become more and more passive as the years go by until the only role I have is that of quiet cheerleader. 

My best friend's daughter went to college this year.  I thought she handled it very well as a mother.  I know she struggles still...but she's doing better than I thought she would.  I know that, when my time comes and my chickens fly the nest, I'll be fine.  But, until then, I will probably have more of these teary reminders that Thing 1 will be Out On His Own in a blink of an eye.

The days are very, very long.  But the years?  They're so very, very short.

It's good to be back in the Rockin' Chair...if only for a moment.  Ya'll take care.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.