- Monday's child is fair of face,
- Tuesday's child is full of grace,
- Wednesday's child is full of woe,
- Thursday's child has far to go,
- Friday's child is loving and giving,
- Saturday's child works hard for a living,
- But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
Tuesday evening I returned from work and, with bags in my hands, I made a bee-line toward the kitchen. I said my hellos to my leggy lad while passing through. With some urgency, I pit-stopped at the restroom before throwing on my relaxing yoga stretch pants and making myself comfortable in front of the computer.
It was then that Mancub peeked around the corner with a surprise, "I shaved!" Beaming with pride he rubbed his face. What a handsome mug.
He'll register for high school on his 15th birthday. How can that be? It's not that I dread this event, but it seemed so far away only days ago.
While many parents count down the days until their children return to school, I approach it with a heavy heart. I can't quite explain why, but my life is less chaotic and far more relaxing without the stresses of school. His life is far more simple not having to face each day not knowing whether a classmate will act foolish and strike against my mild mannered giant.
Where has my little boy gone?
It's hard to believe the young man who is devouring chocolate ice cream in my living room is the same child in this photo. I know deep down that little boy still exists ... deep in my memories and in my heart.
With family surrounding him, he'll look upon his Dairy Queen cake custom made by his cousin Aubrey. He'll smirk and anxiously await the completion of his loved ones singing Happy Birthday in every key and every style imaginable. The cacophony will likely cause him to cover his ears in jest.
I'm overwhelmed at the creature too big for his bed. It's hard for me to grasp the idea that I gave birth to such an incredible human being and I get to spend every day basking in delight in his accomplishments and help him pick up the pieces of disappointment.
When I feel like hell and I just want to shut out the world, he knows without asking and offers a snuggly hug. How odd it is that I rest my head on his shoulder when that embrace is offered without plea.
It seemed not long ago that his little head was nestled in the crook of my neck as I walked the floor bobbing and rocking praying for him to sleep soundly through the night. Now, I can't expect him to be awake before noon on any given summer day. Long gone are the night time squeals of hunger or need for a diaper change.
He's already started talking about what happens at age 16: Driving. I beg him to not rush things as I don't think my heart can handle it. While I secretly pray the driving age will change to 18, he's sending up hope that it won't happen. Even though he doesn't share his dad's passion for what goes on under the hood of the car, he seems to love the idea of the independence that comes with possessing a driver's license. He's always had curiosity about the rules of the road. Ever since he started sitting in the front seat he's inquired about road signs, yellow solid lines on the pavement. He's acutely aware of the speed limit signs and doesn't hesitate to inform me when it appears that I might be exceeding that which is posted on the roadside. He means well and I'm glad that I've managed to teach him as we've driven the highways and byways from here to Atlanta, GA. He's always been a fantastic traveling buddy and navigator. His sense of direction is impeccable.
So, as my son turns toward manhood, I have no fears that he'll have the drive to succeed no matter which direction his life may take him ... I'm just along for the ride (of my life).