He's Decided to Be All That He Can Be

You know how you get caught up in the craziness of life, to the point where you sometimes forget that not everyone is living it with you?  Or how you make so many updates on Facebook, that you neglect the poor blog you started as the original update location?  Well, that's how it's been here. 

The biggest thing right now?  The Teenager enlisted in the Army.

Yes, I know the original plan was the Navy.  But after three attempts to get an ASVAB/AFQT score high enough for them to take him, he decided that maybe they weren't quite the right fit for him.

You will note, however, that he didn't give up altogether. Oh no. Not this boy. Man. Whatever.  No, he just went shopping for the branch that WAS the right fit for him. He found that with the Army. And so he took the physical. Signed the paperwork. Swore the Oath. Chose a career. Received a deployment date for basic training. He made it completely official.

My starter baby is leaving me in just a few short months. He is leaving me, to go learn how to protect and defend all of you. 

And I honestly believe I just may be more proud of him for this decision that I would have been if he had received a full-ride athletic scholarship to the college of his dreams. Well, if he'd ever dreamed of colleges and not the military.  Apparently, he IS going to be living his dream. Or at least, setting forth on the path towards it. Regardless, I AM so ridiculously beyond proud of him.

This may sound silly, but it occurs to me that this is one more thing in his life that we get to do together: learn to be Army Strong.  He as a soldier; me as a soldier's mom.

This is what he will be spending a very large chunk of his time in. Only, you know, a real tank that's not made out of Legos. 

Someone Needs to Publish a Puberty For Parents Handbook

Mom, we can have this conversation, but you can’t look at me. Just….look at the TV, ok?


And that was how Bug and I started the conversation about his very first kiss. Which hadn’t happened as of last night and that conversation we had where we weren’t looking at each other, but most likely has happened by the time this post is up and you’re reading it.

He informed me that he’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss his girlfriend today. He’s got a plan.

A plan?


Yes, Mom. A plan.

And really, it’s a brilliantly simple plan. After school, he’s going to take her around the building to somewhere there are no teachers (Because PDA will get me in trouble at school, Mom)….and kiss her. Simple. His brother agreed; it was a pretty good plan.

When asked if he was sure, was he really ready for this since he hadn’t been comfortable with the idea with previous girlfriends, he assured me he was. As long as he could get her around the corner where no one was at.

Because really, Mom…I just don’t want to do this with everyone watching.

So it was set. He had it all planned out. This first kiss thing should go off without a hitch. Until this morning….

Just one last question, Mom. How, exactly, do you kiss a girl?

::blink blink::

To my credit, I recovered quickly. I’m not even sure he was aware of just how big a loop he just threw me for. But all of those recovery brownie points go flying out the window in the face of what I told him. Because, really…I have no idea how to kiss a girl. And I don’t remember agonizing over how to kiss a boy, either. So I told him it would probably be a lot like kissing me, except on the lips; and that he could practice on his hand a couple of times. Oh, and don’t pucker up like a fish.

If I wasn’t so sure that once it’s started kissing becomes fairly natural, I’d really worry that I’d just completely doomed him to a kiss-less lifetime. As it is, I have to hope that it goes smoothly enough to not leave him distracted. He’s planning on doing this right before tryouts for the school baseball team today.

I’m still not sure what I was wishing him good luck on as I backed out of the driveway….the kiss, or tryouts.

Perspective Makes All The Difference

Every year, it’s the same battle.


A battle with the school, to make sure his 504 Plan is reevaluated and updated. A battle with the teachers, to hold them accountable for following his 504 Plan. A battle with Bug, to actually do the homework we’ve gotten accommodations for.

Then compound all of that with sports.

Every year, it’s been a lot of the same thing. At the beginning of each season, I meet with his coaches and explain what makes Bug…Bug. I offer advice on what works best, and what doesn’t, in keeping him calm and upbeat. I give each coach a run-down on the physical signs to watch for, in order to better ward off the emotional breakdown that follows each one.

This year, though? This year is going to be different.

For starters, Bug told me at the beginning of the school year that he didn’t want to use his 504 Plan this year. And although he wasn’t able to convince me to give the thing up entirely, he did make some valid contributions to this year’s modifications. When pressed for why he didn’t want to use it? He’s just tired of being treated differently. He wants so badly to fit in, just the way he is.

Now, I would like to say that I’m such a fabulous mother that I instantly realized that I should apply that same logic to baseball. However, apparently I’m a little bit slower than instant.

Bug IS on a new baseball team. We’ve known the coach and a couple of the boys for some years now, and we’ve always been impressed. This coach is amazing, and has a definite affinity for working with young athletes. Plus, he lives and breathes baseball, so he knows what he’s talking about when he directs them. So when an opportunity came up for Bug to try out for this team, we jumped at it. And Bug made the team. (This is where my new found knowledge would have kicked in. You know, had I actually been able to claim it.) As I said, we already knew this coach. So there was no need for the “conversation”. We didn’t need to give him any pointers; he knows my kid well.

So I sat back, and watched. Watched how Bug interacted with the other boys on the team, and how they interacted back. Watched how he played, and how he handled himself when something in the game wasn’t going his way. And even though I could see how well he was doing, how much his self-esteem had improved, how much greater his self-control had gotten…well, it wasn’t until he made this comment to me that things started to click in my head.

Mom, you know why I like this team so much? I fit in. Just the way I am; I fit in. No one is pushing me to see how far they can go before I lose it, and they all just encourage me. I fit, Mom.

And yes, I cried at that.

But my true A-ha! moment came last night. Bug had been called by another team in our club, and asked to fill in for one game. The manager of this team has also known Bug for years. The difference, though, is that ALL of the other boys on the team have also known Bug for years. Which means they’ve all witnessed at least one very public meltdown during a game. The significance of that finally sunk in last night. Or, more accurately, the significance of the fact that almost NONE of the boys on his actual team had ever met him before August.

In a normal game, each of Bug’s teammates can be heard at various times in the game cheering him on or shouting some kind of encouragement; all based on that game’s performance and how awesome they all believe him to be. Last night was different. Oh, the boys on that team all encouraged him, it was just…not the same. Last night was more like how I used to encourage him when he was younger. “Keep your head up! Don’t let it get you down!”

It occurred to me last night that maybe one of the biggest reasons he’s doing so well on this new team and making such strides in mastering his self-control? Is that not one person on that field is waiting for him to fail.

They’re excited about watching him succeed.

The One I Forgot to Title Until Three Hours After I Posted It

This little space here is almost always about my boys. About life with my boys. Rarely do I just talk about me. And because I don’t do that often here, when life is … well, life… and it seems to be focusing more on me than them? I have to work to justify writing about it here.


Because regardless of what some alternate opinions are, and even some circumstantial evidence to the contrary, I really….REALLY….work hard at not making it all about me.

But……

Sometimes, despite the overall situation being about me, I’m fortunate enough to be able to see something in there that shows my amazing offspring to advantage. And there you have it. My justification for writing what I’m going to write.

I’ve talked about the fact that Bug struggles with Bipolar Disorder. I’m one of those parents who believes in using every possible tool available at my disposal to help him along his journey, as he learns how to control this disorder and integrate it into how he lives his life. That includes medication for him, and I’m totally on board with that. We’ve been fortunate enough to have doctors who don’t over prescribe, and who actually listen to me when I talk to them about how it affects him. And really, Bug has been fairly successful in learning to recognize when he’s headed towards a downward spiral, and works on getting through that with minimal collateral damage.

So, why is it he’s so successful? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because his mama is Bipolar, too.

The biggest difference between his struggles and mine is the medication. Oh, sure….I’ve had a lot more years to learn how to work with mine; but I’ve been slugging through mine without the benefit of medication. Not because I don’t believe in it, because I obviously do or I wouldn’t have my son on medication. But because at one point, the choice was literally “His medication or mine?” And naturally, his won. Now that we’re headed back to a point where I might be able to medicate us both, it’s absolutely something I’ll be talking to my doctor about. Especially after “that night” last week.

That night found me walking away from a pot of boiling water on my stove and sitting in my room in the dark, in tears, for no good reason that I could think of. That night heard me asking my sons to please not argue about one single thing, because mama was at the breaking point and I wasn’t able to recognize exactly what would be the shattering point. That night saw me explaining to Bug that I was feeling exactly how he does when his body feels itchy all over and like it’s going to break into a thousand different pieces if just one thing touches it. That night prompted my beautiful boy to come hug me anyway, and offer to make dinner so I wouldn’t have to. That night witnessed both of my boys to just come hug me anyway, trusting that I wouldn’t shatter into pieces so small that we’d never find them again. That night witnessed thoughts in my head going ‘round and ‘round, wondering what God possibly could have been thinking of, giving a mom like me to two amazing, wonderful boys like them?

I still don’t know what He was thinking, because I honestly don’t deserve them. But I’m more grateful than those boys will ever know.

Buy Me Some Peanuts and Crackerjacks

I love baseball season. I love almost everything about baseball season. Almost.

(Do I even need to clarify that I'm talking about BUG's baseball seasons?  Because as much as I love me some Colorado Rockies -- they hold a special place in my heart since their inaugural season was happening when the Teenager was born -- Major League Baseball just doesn't hold my attention in quite the same way.)

I love hearing the crack of the bat. 

I love watching amazing, miraculous, no one's ever gonna believe it catches.

I love hearing the cheers when he throws a ball from deep in center field, and it lands perfectly in the catcher's mitt.

I love watching him fit in with boys who forgive him his quirks, because they see him as valuable and just an awesome kid.

I even love watching him as he watches his teammates, because it's showing me that he's learning to pay attention even when the focus is not on him.

What I don't love, though?  Baseball dirt. I don't love how it takes beautifully white pants and makes them orange. And as amusing as it is, I'm not even overly fond of how it takes my handsome boy and turns him into an Oompa Loompa.

Very much like Pig Pen, actually, by the time the game is over.

But, mom.....baseball dirt makes everything taste BETTER.

Give up, mom. You're never gonna get it out of there. Besides, I don't want you to. I like it. Seeing all of that orange ground into the white? Really makes me feel like I'm doing my job out there, and doing it right.

*sigh*

Did I say I didn't love baseball dirt?  How can I not, when it has the power to give my baby another piece of himself back, when he struggles so hard to hold onto all that he can?

Internet Porn and Happy Blogiversary to Me!

I'm sorry to tell you, at least one of those things will be ongoing until my boys move out and have their own computers to violate.  And it most likely will not be my blog. Wait.... my blog will still be here. I talk too much to ever entirely shut this down.

Seriously, though, having boys...well, having boys that are captivated by the more interesting and visual aspects of human anatomy... the internet porn thing will be ongoing. BUT... here's how I address it with my boys. And it generally curbs the activity for some time.

First, I make Coach leave the room. There is a part of most dads, no matter how moral and upstanding they may be, that is always 17 years old. That part of them would rather high-5 their son and make their own google-eyes at the screen. That part? Is not a helpful parenting partner. It's very difficult for them to talk about responsible Internet surfing, when their testosterone-laden brains are sidetracked with the thought, "Oh wow.... who cares if they're real? They're SPECTACULAR!", or with "Huh. Wonder if my wife can put HER ankles behind her ears?". So yeah. He gets to leave. I hate to reward him that way, but it really makes things easier.

Then I remind the boys that as embarrassing as it is for them to be hearing their mother say anything at all about naked bodies on the computer, it is equally embarrassing for me to be saying it. But since they chose to use MY computer to look, they get to listen to ME. This produces enough eye rolls that they are usually relaxed enough to talk seriously. So I take that opportunity to reassure them that it IS normal to be curious, it IS normal to push the boundaries I've laid out, and it IS normal to already be planning how they can do it again.

But then I also remind them that it is EXPECTED that they RESPECT the fact that it is a FAMILY computer. I ask them how they think their grandmother, or young cousins, would react if they sat down at our computer screen to play a game or open an email, and instead got a pop up of someone popping open? I have found that putting my children in the position of reflecting on how their actions can spread out and affect someone not actually in our immediate family works well. Let's face it. They don't care how it affects each other, and they live to embarrass and shock their parents. But grandma or the 5 year old cousin? Suddenly things aren't quite as exciting.


And, being no dummy, I frequently and with no warning whatsoever, check the history and the cookies on my computer, and call them out on it if something IS found. :) And then I tell them that I don't care which one of them it was, EVERYONE loses computer privileges if it happens again. They police each other then, and I usually get between 2 weeks and 6 months of "clean" computer time.

Poor Bug, though, when the Teenager moves out. With him gone, and dad never really home, there will be no one else to blame.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And? Today is apparently my Blogiversary!  I *think* I've been doing this for about 4 years now. Wow. I would ask "Gee, who knew I had so much to talk about?", but then everyone who knows me would start jumping up and down, saying "Me! Me! Me! I DID!!!!", and that would cause such a rumbling that people from California to New York would think it was some very odd, very troubling earthquake happening. So, since I do NOT want to be the cause of any sort of major mass hysteria, I'll keep that question to myself.

Besides.... it would be redundant, anyway. After all, I knew I had this much to talk about. It's why I talk about it, after all.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation....

Okay, so school technically started about three weeks ago. And fine, I'm not even the one in school. Whatever.  I'm still going to uphold the fine tradition of English teachers across the nation, and write about my summer vacation. 

My starter baby, my fake-it-til-you-make-it introduction to parenting, graduated from high school. After a lot of late night anguish over homework, stomach aches over girlfriends, Snoopy happy dances because of football games and track meets, and more tears than can ever be counted. And all of that was on my part! But we got him there.

And then he had the nerve to turn 18. He's a big boy now, and able to make big boy choices. And apparently able to withstand big boy pain.  After several years of talking about it, many design and design alterations; after getting my solemn pinkie promise to not only go along with him, but to get one of my own; I celebrated the 18th anniversary of 18 hours of hard labor-the worst pain imaginable (well, had I not been under the most awesome influence of a superb epidural!) by getting a tattoo with the Teenager.

 
My baby, my Bug, decided that this would be a perfect time to venture into his own teenage-hood. He turned 13 this year. I'm still not sure he's telling me the truth about his birthday. I mean, I was there for his birth. And I'm certain it happened only a few short years ago.

This was also the summer I got to remember being 18 again. My 20-year high school reunion. As corny as it sounds, it truly was like no time at all had passed. I walked into the room, squealed when I saw my favorite people on the planet from 20 years ago, ran into hugs that simply defined Best Hug Ever, and the last 20 years melted off of each of us. And in my case? 100 pounds went right along with it.  I could pretend, for 72 hours, that I was just as I was then. Fortunately, my friends went right along with that alternate reality. There is a reason I love them.

And while that experience may be the highlight of my trip home this summer, it can possibly be topped by the journey there and back. Road trip with my boys!! We spent 14 hours, each direction, laughing and singing along in the car. We talked, about girls and life after high school. And we argued over who got to eat the last licorice rope. Had that stubborn Teenager not cheated by sticking them all in his mouth and sliding them back out again, covered in his slimy germs? I totally would have won that argument, too.

Back home again, and time was running out. We still had so much to do, and not a lot of time left.  In true-to-myself fashion, Bug and I fulfilled one of my promises to him in the Go Big or Go Home style we try to embrace here. He had been begging me to dye his hair purple since before school even got out in the spring. Finally, as I was wandering the hair color aisle at the grocery store, fate smiled upon my boy. Fate in the form of the ONLY box of purple hair coloring left on the shelf.  Only after I got it home and in his hair did I check to make sure it was a temporary dye, and is supposed to come out completely after about 24 shampoos. I'm not entirely sure he's using shampoo every morning in the shower, as there is still quite a bit of purple still in there.

And finally, we came to the end of our summer. School started in three days. Was there even time to fit anything else in? Honestly....who did they think they were dealing with?

Night Ranger. Foreigner. Journey.  We saw them all in one night. No matter that the boys really had no idea who Night Ranger was. That portion of the concert was really more for me. But when Journey took the stage? Both my boys (and a couple of extra teenagers I'd picked up for the fun! Mouse and another friend of the Teenager's) were on their feet for the entire set, dancing and air-guitaring their way through song after song. In the rain, because is there a better way to enjoy lawn seats to an amazing concert?

I don't think I realized just how amazing my summer truly was, until just this moment. It was so .... full .... and I didn't even talk about Bug's last All Star baseball experience (beyond amazing!), or the soul-soothing visit with my own mama while I was home for my reunion.

Oh! And did I mention I got a fabulous new haircut?

Huh. Maybe all of those English teachers really do know what they're doing when they ask for these essays, after all.

They Pretty Much Have Me Wrapped Around Their Fingers.....And They Know It

I had it all planned out.  The Teenager was going to be out until late. Bug was spending the night at a friend's house. I was deciding between a few different things for dinner, and taking my time about it since it was just me. I was going to rent a movie; most likely one of the chick flicks that I've been wanting to see but never get to, living as I do in the House of Testosterone.  It was going to be a fairly close to perfect night.

So, naturally, when I answered my phone the first question I heard was, "Hey, Mom... can (insert any random Friend in here...it's always the same question, only the names change) spend the night?"

Well, damn, I thought. There goes my night. Now I'll have to feed someone other than myself, and they will most likely take over my living room, playing some stupid StalkShootKill game, leaving me in the den with that stupid TV that I can't enjoy a movie on even if we did have a DVD player in there. I could just say no.....

And I was right. I *could* just say no. Any bets on what I actually did say? No? Yeah, that's cuz you all know I'm a big sucker. Of course I said yes.

Because while I might complain about being stuck in the den with the TV that turns all pictures a lovely shade of orangey-yellow, I can't help but remember one little fact about myself.

I'm a procrastinator. And what I'm putting off til tomorrow is Empty Nest Syndrome. 

So, yes. They can have their friends stay the night. They can play those stupid video games. They can even beg me NOT to make spaghetti, just because it sounds good to me. They can disrupt my quiet evening as much as they think they're able to. That's right. Bring on the noise!

Because I'm just not ready to face every weekend without it yet.

This is SOOO How I Feel Some Days

Parental Fail

"Mom, I gotta tell you something, and I'm calling you because you'll freak out less than Dad. I got in an accident."

"Are you SERIOUS?"

"Yeah. I backed into someone."

"You're not kidding? You really hit someone?!?"

"Yes, I did. And it's not helping that you're YELLING AT ME!!!"

*big, deep breath.....much calmer tone of voice.... because, drat it all, he was right...I was yelling, just a bit*

"You're right. I'm sorry. Are you ok? Is anyone hurt?"

From there, he proceeded to tell me exactly what happened, and I was able to walk him through exactly what to do. No one was hurt, the owner of the other vehicle seems to be a very nice young man, and we're hoping to get this taken care of with minimal fuss. A busted taillight and a dented bumper for each vehicle. As far as accidents go, this one's a cake walk.  Heck, both...yes, that's right...BOTH of my brothers backed into MY car when they were both in high school.  Or, perhaps more correctly, they each backed OVER my car when they were in high school.

Still, I can't help but feel like I totally hosed a defining parental moment.

His first fender bender, and I didn't react the way he needed me to. I didn't believe him at first, and wasn't calm until he reminded me that he needed me to be.

Do I at least get some bonus redemption points for asking about him first, rather than the car?

A Daughter Wouldn't Have Cared

A three day weekend. Nothing to do but be lazy. Don't even need to get dressed if I don't want to.  I was soooo looking forward to that. And then...the Teenager ruined it.

We've had a long standing agreement, he and I.  He would warn me if he had friends walking in the door, and I'd make sure I was wearing a bra when they did.  After all, I'm just a little too endowed, and gravity has taken too cruel of a toll, for me to run around in front of teenage boys with no bra on. I don't recall if it was started at his suggestion or mine, but it has worked very well for us. No embarrassment for anyone.

So here I sat, being lazy, and I hear him holler at me..."Mom! Put a bra on!"

Damn. Friends are coming over.

I know that at one point, what I wanted most out of being a mom was having the house everyone loved to come to. I wanted all of their friends to be so comfortable with me that they'd all call me "Mom" and just walk in my front door.  And they do.

It is possible, though, that I didn't think this through very well. I didn't take into account that I would really, really, really want to spend a full few days with no restricting underclothes on.

Having daughters might have been easier, since I wouldn't have to worry so much about boobs and how they'd be worried about, but it would have been nowhere near as entertaining as having sons.

The Sounds of Silence...Not What They're Cracked Up To Be

As I sit here typing, from the next room I can hear the sounds of five teenage boys of various teenage years combined with the sounds of Call of Duty in various stages of gunfire.  There is a lot of gunfire. There is a lot of shouting. There is a lot of trash talking going on.

There is a lot of camaraderie. There is a lot of laughter. There is a lot of memory making happening.

There is a lot of everything that makes my life perfect.

I wonder sometimes what life will be like after the Teenager leaves for the Navy.  I know that my grocery bill will be less. Wayyyy less. I know that my electric bill will go down. Not as drastically as my grocery bill, but still. I know that I'll have more time and money to spend on Bug and his activities.  And all of this is good. Really.

But it will be so .... quiet.

On the plus side, there will be a lot less arguments when I decide to play my 80's music. Loudly.

Very loudly.

I Must've Blinked Somewhere

So. This is it. You're 18. Finally.

In your eyes, it's taken so incredibly long to get here. In mine, I can't seem to figure out how all the years sped by so quickly.

Eighteen years ago, my everything changed. Permanently. My life, my world, my body.  Because let's face it, there is just no way to carry a baby for nine months, go through labor and delivery, and look the same. Ever. Even if you are one of the lucky ones, and manage to fit into your pre-pregnancy clothes, your body will still never be the same. It will be forever changed.

So it seems oddly fitting that today, on your 18th birthday; the day we are celebrating your move from child to man; that once again you are the cause of a major and forever sort of change to my body.  Because today, I get to fulfill yet another promise made to you; a pact we made together.  You design it....I'll do it. That was the whole of it.

Well, you upheld your end of the bargain. Now it's time for me to uphold mine.  Today....we are getting our first tattoos together. 

I am scared spitless. Needles and I? Have not ever been on good terms.  So when you look back on your life, and you see all of the things we did together that created the memories you see? Give a little bit of extra brownie points to me for this one, okay?  Apparently, there truly isn't anything I won't endure for you.

Happy 18th birthday to you, my oldest son; my starter baby. 

We've grown up together, kiddo. And I don't think either of us has turned out too shabby. 

I love you to the moon and back,

Mom

Where Do We Go From Here?

I have no idea.

Sure, he's headed into the Navy later this fall. And sooner than that, he's headed into a job, God-willing. At least for the summer. (He's been warned....no more school + no more sports = no more of Mom blindly supporting his life.) But where does life really go from here? 

I have suddenly become the mother of a son I don't get to lead into the decisions he should be making. (Yes, you can feel free to translate that into "control". I won't take offense. I can't...it's true.)  Although, truth be told, he was never one for blindly following my suggestions, anyway. 

We had a discussion last night (and by discussion, I really mean that I tried talking to him while he busily texted various friends, and made what I'm sure he deemed appropriate grunting responses in reply to my words), where I admitted to him that I knew he no longer had to actually ask for permission to do things and go places. And never one to waste an opportunity to further instruct my offspring in the ways of respect and courtesy, I also reminded him that this did not mean he could stay out til all hours of the night, going God only knows where and doing God only knew what with God only knows who. Because while God knew, I wouldn't, and he still lived with me in my house and not with God in His.

All the while, I was reminding myself in my head to be verrrryyyy careful not to utter this phrase: As long as you live in my house, you will..... (fill in the blank)

Because I remembered that the last time I heard that, I moved out of my parents' house and in with the Teenager's father. And while that may have eventually turned out well....it's been a rough eighteen + years. I do NOT want that for my child.  So I will continue to be vigilant in not uttering that phrase in his hearing.

But what I'm really wondering is not so much where does HIS life go from here, but where does MINE go from here?

Before too long, it will be just me and Bug. And while most of the time he seems to enjoy my company more than his brother does, I'm not fool enough to believe that he'll willingly suffer my hovering for long. For so long, my life has been almost exclusively filled with my boys and their activities. With the Teenager no longer contributing to that, I'm feeling a little lost. I've only got Bug for another 5 years, and I discovered the hard way with the Teenager that that is a very short amount of time that goes by entirely too fast. With Coach now over the road and only home for a couple of days every few weeks, it's looking like it's time to figure out who I am underneath the Mom uniform. The only thing I know for sure that I like doing is reading, and I really do know that it would not be a good idea for me to retreat entirely into a world of books. I'm a little daunted by the prospect of finding new aspects of myself.

And if I'm being honest.... I'm a lot freaked out, too. 

My Thursday Night Was Awesome....How Was Yours?

Less Than A Week....

Five days to go....

If I let myself think about it too much, I turn all weepy. Of course, that makes him roll his eyes and laugh at me, but that's normal. 

I am so, so, so proud of this kid. Kid? No, this young man. This amazing person who has gone from adorable baby, to precocious little boy, to snarky teenager, to this mature adult in training. 

We got through his first words, first tooth, first step, not knowing, really, where those steps would take him.

We got through elementary school with no worries, not a single thought about how close this day actually was.

We got through Jr. High without realizing how that was preparing him.

We got into High School, and thought this day was on the distant horizon. We pushed through English classes, math homework, football games, baseball games and track meets.

And now we're here. Well, almost here. Just five more days.....

I am so proud of you, and I love you so much.  I can't wait to see where you head next.