I jumped off the edge of a cliff today. With chocolate in one hand . . . and prayer in the other.
It was the cliff called The Teen Years.
Our oldest child turned 13 today. And I can still remember the moment he made his way into this big, bright world. I can still see his soft cheeks and bright blue eyes. The moment we brought him home to our little single-wide trailer . . . and life was perfect.
Then there was the time I wanted to be like the trendy moms and put my baby in fuzzy pajamas – without accounting for the fact that the stove was directly on the other side of his thin bedroom wall. And I almost cooked him that night.
I can still see the little boy who used to sit by the magazine rack, reading, reading, reading. At the big age of one year old. Of course, he couldn’t read a word, but Country magazine was his favorite with all the tractors and animals in them.
And my heart weeps because that little boy with the big blue eyes no longer wants a number four taped onto the back of his shirt. Instead, he dons his big football gear and looks daunting . . . even to me.
Be still, my heart. But where, oh where, did the little years go?
I blinked . . . and now they’re gone.
Yet the little boy who looks the miniature of his papa . . . has become a young man I am proud of!
Someone said the teenage years are some of the most fun with your children. I’m hanging onto the hope that this rumor is true.
For his 13th birthday, he received a mountain bike! Dad had fun picking it out and the other children loved helping him assemble it this afternoon.
And I gave him something special just from Mom. The printed-up copy of my wishes for him. To hang on his wall, or stuff in a drawer – but it’s everything I’m still trying to become . . . and what I wish him to be.
When in the middle of diapers, sippy cups, and Legos, I never thought I’d get to the place where I’d wish I could turn back the hands of time. Yet each phase has its beautiful moments, and its rough times.
But instead of trying to turn back the hands of time . . . I look forward to the fun, the adventures, the excitement of this thing called The Teen Years.
So to my great 13-year-old (I won’t call him sweet, because I’ve found out boys think that’s a rather sick word):
I am proud of you and love you much!
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