The first day your teenagers get up on their own to ready themselves for school, at the ass crack of dawn, dress, prep their own breakfast, take medication, and exit in what I consider a reasonable amount of time before their bus arrives is both a huge parenting coup and a polarizing event in a mother’s life AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY.
Currently, two high school freshman reside in my home and it’s akin to shacking up next to two, occasionally talkative, but mostly phone-ridden unicorns who can’t put a glass in the dishwasher or push in their chair, damnit.
It’s a weird dynamic, having these two beings in my orbit, as just a few months ago I brought them home from the hospital in outfits I carefully curated, and a few weeks ago, they started Kindergarten. Now? NOW? One has big plans to hone his skills and pursue a career in mechanical engineering in order to, get this, design and build rollercoasters. Bless. But not before making a big stop at a college far, far away from home and joining D&D club at school. His sister, forever a joiner and more evidence that she’s not just a product of my contributing genetic material but, holy GOD, she’s my clone, has successfully auditioned for, and been accepted into, the school marching band drumline, and has lofty aspirations of traveling the world playing her music and cultivating a career in the pastry arts. Y’all, a PASTRY CHEF and a ROLLER COASTER BUILDER. My work here is somewhat done, I’d say.
I recall the first few years of my kids’ lives, wishing the days would pass quickly and they’d just be able to talk and walk and wipe independently, and I think that’s totally normal. But man. MAN. The days are long but the years are short, indeed. I guess I’m wading into the shallow end of the parenting pool, away from the deep part, not really treading water much anymore, and I can see my little ones, not so little anymore, start to head for the stairs, and I can stand up all on my own, and take in the sunshine until someone calls and it’s time to go.