The last couple of weeks have been pretty monumental, in a lifetime landmark kind of way, even though they have unfolded somewhat uneventfully.
Two weeks ago, my eldest child completed his thirteenth trip around the sun on this planet. I am now the parent of a teenager, and I will be for the next nine and one-half years (the youngest won’t exit her teens until 2020 — ye gods, what a scary date!) For some mysterious reason, this milestone wasn’t quite as hard on me as the completion of his twelfth circuit last year; maybe it’s because he grew more than a foot in height during the past year, his shoes became large enough to double as lifeboats, and his voice changed. Dramatically. (We think he will end up singing bass.) The actual birthday had an afterthought-like quality to it: “Oh, and by the way, you are now the parent of a man-child.” No kidding! Have you seen my grocery bill?
That same week, my youngest went to sleep-away camp for the first time. Mind you, the eldest didn’t do that until about a month before, so for the ten-year-old to be ready for something like that is a Big Deal. (If you know them, however, you also know that it’s not surprising given their respective personalities.)
And today is the First Day of School, the first day of the last year in which I will have a child in elementary school. My SO helpfully reminded me of this while we were lying in bed trying to get our brains around the reality of once again getting up every morning at 6:00 a.m. I don’t know if he intended to be helpful or if he was wrestling with the concept himself and simply spoke his thoughts aloud. Clearly the notion caught my attention and triggered all sorts of other thoughts. And with my newly-restored hours of peace and quiet, those thoughts congealed enough to become this post.
Maybe this won’t be so weird or difficult after all.