Some of my favorite bloggers do these beautiful, touching homage pieces to their kids and their husbands on birthdays and anniversaries, some post monthly wow- look-at-you growth re-caps of babies. Some take us through the death of their cancer-ridden pussycat, the passing their strong, wise Granny, the sudden demise of a hamster named Mr. Nibbles. Me?
Not so much.
I'm the go-to girl if you want to hear about planning a party, writing a novel or what I think about bad drivers. Come to me and read about dresses and shoes and shopping. About killer shots in beach bars and where to find the best place to skinny dip. I can tell you what to read, how to install a surround sound system with projector and custom screen and assure MACs kick the ass of any PC.
But do not have me go to my tender spot.
Because Lord knows, I have become my father- crying at cute puppies, at sad movies, and in really, really happy moments- like a few weeks ago when a friend was surprised at winning this huge, daunting award... something her son wrote an essay for to win her nomination. Yeah. wow. I was weeping.
SO, even if I'm not gonna get mushy, let it be said.
I love my kids.
Some days when I close the door on the 16 year old, as he walks out in the dark, down to a bus stop that's also in the dark. I feel a lump in my throat. Part omigod please get there, please do well, please let them be nice to you and please please please come back home... and part, shit, did I do the right things for him yesterday? Will I make the right choices today? And why did I ever think I should be a parent, again?
And when the grumpy almost 12 yr old yells down at 7:30 that I was supposed to have remembered to wake her up early, not be writing on my computer, because she needs to curl her hair, and what was I thinking, motherrrrrr? let it be said, I love my kids.
So, on this day, April 19. I celebrate, you, my son. A boy born in California, raised on the East Coast and becoming a man in The South.
Happy Birthday, my tow-headed 9 lb 10.5 oz baby, my 6'1" 185lb man.