On Friday, my First Baby graduated from junior high. I had been on an emotional roller coaster in anticipation of the event for weeks. It was very much like the summer before he started Kindergarten. I cried for an entire MONTH that summer. Every time I would think about leaving my son in a classroom with a bunch of people he didn’t know, I would begin to sob.
And for the past few weeks, every time I would think about that same little boy walking across a stage to receive his promotion certificate, I would cry.
I was pretty much alone on The Emotional Roller Coaster, because My Baby’s Daddy is one of Those Men who do not cry.
Crying is for wimps! Men do not cry! If I cry you will think that I am weak!
He has had a few moments in which a tear has formed in his eye and rolled down his cheek, like when he watched my vagina stretch to the size of a pumpkin as our babies were born, or when Shelby died on Steel Magnolias. And I swear, each and every of those 6 times that I saw him (almost) cry, I started sobbing because “oh my God, it’s so beautiful when you show me you’re emotions!”
Last week, we were sitting on (not) our bed talking about various things—like all of the Car Accident Drama (because OMG, there is drama, people.), how much we hate our insurance company (which rhymes with Jerk-ury), Kobe Bryant and our children.. My husband began talking about our oldest son and how hard it is for him to believe that our first baby was graduating from junior high.
All of a sudden, he started to cry.
I mean, really cry.
And because I honestly can not watch my husband cry without breaking the hell down, I started to cry with him.
We just sat there and wept about how fast our First Baby has grown. We talked about all of the thousands of memories we’ve made with him over the past 14 years. We sobbed as we pondered how the saying “enjoy them while their little” is so cliché, but so damn true. Because one day he was running around in his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles jumpsuit showing off his killer ninja moves and we blinked our eyes and he was filling out high school paperwork and checking “Military” as his career choice. (But let’s not even TALK ABOUT THAT right now.)
We sat there talking, crying and laughing about this beautiful child that we conceived in love—the child who was obsessed with Snow White as a toddler and would cry and scream at nap time because he wanted to watch “Hi Ho!” The child who really isn’t a child anymore, but a budding young man, with a fuzz’stache and Man Voice who will be walking onto a high school campus as a freshman in just a few short weeks.
We talked about his promotion ceremony. How would we feel when they called his name? I predicted we would cry, because if just thinking about it made us sob like sissies, how could we NOT cry in the actual moment?
Friday came and that moment I had imagined in my mind for the past few weeks finally happened. I was sitting there, with my good for nothing camera, waiting for them to call his name. Tony started poking me on the shoulder.
“There he is, Y. There’s our boy!”
I turned to my right and saw my son standing there, looking all handsome (and awkward) in white shirt and tie. I felt this wave of emotion take over my entire body. I took a deep breath, expecting to break down in tears.
But I didn’t. Instead, I felt this unspeakable joy.
And love.
And pride.
They called his name from the loud speaker. I jumped up out of my seat and started to cheer as he walked across the gym floor.
“Whooo! Hoooo! Way to go Andrew! WHOOOO!”
I was so excited and caught up in the moment that I almost forgot to take a picture.
Luckily I was able to snap this picture (with my piece of crap camera) before it was too late.
I’m a little sad this is the only shot I got of that moment. Because that’s a moment that I never want to forget, for as long as I live.
I don’t write much about my son on this blog, and some may think it’s because I don’t love him as much as I love my daughter, but those people would be so very wrong. I stopped writing about my son when he stopped being a little boy and started being a young man out of respect for his privacy. I don’t ever want my son to hate me because of a blawwwg. But, today I’m making an exception. Because promotion from junior high is a milestone that must be acknowledged and because I am so proud of that kid and the man he is shaping up to be.
(I’ll have to ask for his forgiveness about the “Hi! Ho!” reference, though. Thanks to Joelle for pointing THAT out.)
That young man, whether he knows it or not, holds a huge chunk of my heart in his still growing hands, because no matter how grown he is, in my eyes, he will forever be the baby that made me a mother.
Category Archives: Raising Boys
Birfday
Today is Ethan’s birthday.
Guess how old he is?
I’ll give you a hint.
And I’m all “Ha! Ha! SO FUNNY! He’s 10.”
Ten years old.
*Weeps*
Every year, I bring some kind of treat to his class on his birthday so that his classmates can share in his birthday celebration. And that treat is always store bought cupcakes. I always have great intentions of baking something really special, but I am not one of those mothers to which those kinds of things come easily.
You know which moms that I’m talking about– the ones who can turn a fart bubble into a beeYOOtiful chocolate cupcake with twirling ballerinas on top. You probably ARE one of those moms. I am, in fact, the complete opposite of those moms.
I am The Mom who stresses out for weeks before every cupcake occasion because I want my cupcakes to be totally awesome, but I know deep down in my heart that no matter how hard I try, they will never be as good as The Mom who turned her fart into a singing cupcake. So, I usually cry a lot the night before because “I’ve failed as mother. I’M A FAIIIIIILUUURRE” and go buy a few dozen cupcakes from Costco instead.
Today was different though. Today, I had this freaking Rad with a capital R idea. “I’ll buy these cute little heart shaped tin foil cups, and I will put pre packaged cookie dough inside of them and I will bake them, and then I will frost them and THEN! I will carefully write the number “10” on each and every one of them to symbolize 10 years of life!”
Honestly? Those treats were not hard to make and yet by the time I was done, I was sweating profusely and ready to lay on the floor and die. I wasn’t going to let the kids see me sweat though. When I got to the school, I put my brave face on. I walked over to the benches with my trays of heart shaped cookie cakes and was all “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ETHAN! Who wants a cookie?!”
You should have seen the kids faces. They were really impressed with my cookies. I’m talking seriously impressed. I started to feel better about myself, maybe even a *little* bit proud, but then some kid in a red shirt had to go and ruin it by shouting out “where are the drinks at?” (In a very judgmental tone, I might add.) Oops! Drinks! Riiiiight. Of COURSE I forgot about the drinks. But, in my defense, it’s hard remembering things when you’re trying to make perfect #10’s while your daughter is holding onto your leg, sniffing your butt. (No, Seriously. That’s my daughter’s new thing—sniffing my butt.)
I almost felt like a failure of a mother, until I looked up and saw the smile on my son’s face. He was so happy that I had taken the time to make these little treats for him and his friends. And he didn’t care what they looked like, or that I forgot drinks. (And napkins. Ha ha) All he cared about was that I was there, acknowledging his special day. All he cared about was that I took time out of my day to do something special for him.
I love that kid.
They’re playing basketball. We love that basketball.
Today, my oldest son is playing for the city league basketball championship.
They’re playing the team that they team they beat by 1 point. At the buzzer
He’s played in the city league since he was 3 years old and this is the first time he’s been on a winning team. This is the first time that he’s ever made it to the championship. This is the first time that he has a team that really knows how to play basketball.
And it just so happens to be the first year that PigHunter has coached his team.
The exitement doesn’t end there, folks. PigHunter is also coaching Ethan’s team and at 8 this morning, he has a playoff game and if he wins that game, he will also play for city championship this afternoon. (Different divisions.)
We’re all so excited and I’m so damn proud of all 3 of my boys. Last weekend, they won FOUR games to get to this point.
I didn’t sleep much last night because of nerves and I know I don’t need to tell you about The Gas.
I just hope I’m able to control my nerves and um, not get kicked out of either of their games. I’ve developed a “new skill” when it comes to their basketball games. It’s called “Taking a Walk” instead of “Screaming at the Refs (and Sometimes the Parents.) It’s worked beautifully this year, as I’ve not even got a warning to shut my trap from the refs.
Both of my boys want to win this really bad, so as their mom, I want it for them.
Go Lakers! Go Magic!
GO COACH PIGHUNTER!(And also Coach Kevin! Because he’s not coaching alone, he’s co-coaching with a friend.)
Update:
Ethan lost the first game and his chance at the championship by TWO flippin’ points. He did, however, win his 2nd game by almost 30 and took 3rd place.
Andrew’s game is at 3:30 and this is for The Championship, Y’all.
“Dude, like, my mom totally read your comment and she’s going to tell your mom.”
On Saturday, my First Baby will turn 14 years old.
I can’t think about it without breaking down and crying. He’s my first child, he holds a very dear place in my heart and every time I’m faced with the reality of how quickly he’s heading towards adulthood, my heart breaks in a thousand different places and also bursts with pride at the same time.
Bittersweet. That is truly the only word to discribe it.
Yesterday, he asked me The Question that I’ve been dreading. The question I hoped would never come out of my son’s mouth.
A Moment in Time
A few weeks ago, a family friend gave me a stack of pictures from her wedding in 2002. Ethan was the ring bearer in their wedding and also, the free entertainment at the reception.
He was only 4 years old, too young to care what anyone thought, and so as soon as the music started playing, he hit the dance floor all by himself and WENT OFF. The kid danced for probably 30 minutes by himself while everyone watched, cheered him on and laughed until they had tears rolling down his face.
It was hysterical because the kid had THE MOVES and wasn’t afraid to use them.
Andrew wanted nothing to do with the dance floor I begged him to get out there with his brother, but he refused. It’s always like that with my boys. Ethan is a free spirit, not too worried about what people think, not afraid to bust out the Elvis Dance Moves at a wedding.
(Which reminds me of my friend’s wedding last summer. The entire reception, people were begging me to do The Worm. “But I can’t! I have a skirt on! And we all know what happened the last time that happened the last time that I did The Worm in a skirt!” But they didn’t care and kept egging me on and finally, I was all “Tony, here! Hold my wine! Fear not! I’m tucking the skirt in!” and I wormed my way across the dance floor. Ah, he is SO my son.)
I was able to talk Andrew into one dance that day. It took a lot of begging and pleading, but he finally gave in and danced with me and Ethan. I do remember that dance and how lucky I felt to have both of my little guys there, holding my hand dancing with me. I had no idea how much that dance would mean to me almost 5 years later.
That dance that I had begged my oldest son for, the one where we laughed and twirled and sang along to the music was now a memory that a random stranger had captured on film. I held that picture in my hands and I began to cry.
A picture, snapped by a complete stranger, holds more meaning to this mother than that person will ever know. One picture among hundreds taken that day.
A picture that reminds me just how fast the time really flies—how I blinked and that little boy in the red shirt is a few months away from his Freshman year in high school and that little munchkin in the blue shirt is now “too cool” to let loose like he did that day.
I’m so grateful for this picture. It serves as a reminder that I really must cherish every moment. I had no idea that day as I was dancing with my boys that beautiful day in 2002 that 5 years later, I’d be sitting with my teenage son, looking at a picture of that very moment, and hear the words “you know mom, that will be the only picture you’ll ever see of me dancing with you like that.”
(Did you hear that sound? That was my heart, breaking into a million pieces.)
If I had known that, maybe I would have danced a little longer with them that day, or maybe I would have reminded myself to never forget the way their laugh sounded as they were twirling around, or maybe I would have asked someone to take more pictures, or maybe I would have broke down right there on the dance floor, dropped to my knees and begged God to please let them still little just a while longer because I wasn’t prepared for the day that they were too grown to dance with their mama to come so damn soon.
Ladies Love The Protector of Girls.
A girl named “Aspen” just called to talk to Ethan.
Aspen has a friend over and they called to tell Ethan that they want to kiss him and they want him to choose which girl he’s going to kiss first.
Ethan is 9 years old. So are the girls.
My son responded with these exact words (said with a BRIGHT RED FACE) “I don’t know, I’ll make the decision when I’m older and more mature.”
For a brief moment, my heart swelled with pride for the dignified manner in which my son handled the situation.
Then he screamed like a little sissy girl and told them to SHUTUP..
I don’t blame him, the kid is only 9, I’ve not yet taught him how to properly deal with Little Hussies.
Respect…. My Strum
After enduring an hour of mocking and verbal abuse whilst playing Guitar Hero, I thought “Hey! Why not subject yourself to some more abuse and humilation and let the boys write a story about you?” (Thanks to Theresa for the idea.)
They were MORE THAN HAPPY to honor my request. (Little snots.) Prepare yourself, for my children do not hold back. Oh no they do not .
My mom looks like an idiot when she plays guitar hero, but she thinks she looks cool. She doesn’t even know how to play.
A lot of times, she thinks the game is broken, but the problem is that she isn’t strumming the guitar, which makes her kind of dumb when it comes to the game.
If it gets accidently paused, she asks the person to restart it because she’s a drama queen about it and acts like a baby when she plays it.
My mom’s a pretty nice person when it comes to anything else, but when it comes to guitar hero, she’s a game hog and she has no manners.
WhatEVAH. Obviously, they’re just jealous and can’t deal with the fact that I have killer Aerobic Dance Moves to accompany my sucky guitar playing.
My heart. It hurts.
For the past few days, everytime I look at my oldest son, I cry.
I cry because I can no longer pick him up, hold him in my lap and bite his little cheeks.
I cry because the adorable little toddler who used to stand no taller than my knees and who would raise his hands high in the air so that I could pick him up, is now as tall as I am.
I cry because the precious little boy who used to be so proud to have his mommy walk him to class everyday is now a pimply faced teenager who doesn’t even want me to get out of the car when I take him to school.
I cry because as of last month, I have to buy his shoes from the “mens” department.
I cry because he no longer thinks girls have cooties, but watches them with a curious eye when they walk by.
I cry because the little boy who used to walk around in a Ninja Turle Jumpsuit doing kicks and turns now walks around with a walkman singing rock songs and bobbing his head to the music.
I cry because the little boy who wanted nothing more than for his mommy to read him a story or play catch out in the front yard is now to busy hanging out with friends to give his mommy the time of day.
I cry because the first child I concieved, the beautiful little baby boy who made me a mother, my little “Nunu” is growing into a young man right before my eyes and as proud as I am of the man he’s becoming, my heart wishes I could stop time, rewind it and let him be my little boy for just a little while longer.
I’m hoping to go deaf before they get to the part about “wet dreams”
A couple of weeks ago, my son announced that Sex Education was going to start and I needed to sign the permission slips.
I signed them without any hesitation because I was the ONE AND ONLY teenager in my class that wasn’t allowed to participate in sex ed. I’ll never forget how humiliated I felt when the teacher announced that I needed to leave because I wasn’t allowed to participate because MY PARENTS CHECKED NO.
Well, the classes started last week and let me tell you, I’m having a hard time with the whole thing.
Talking about sex with my boys when they were small was easy for me. But as they get older, it became more difficult because, well, you know, BONERS AND STUFF.
I have been asking him questions about The Sex Ed everyday because I want to be involved and in the know about what they’re teaching my son about The Sex. And also? I’m trying to pretend to be completely mature and NOT IN THE LEAST BIT UNCOMFORTABLE with the whole thing but let me tell you, it’s so completely uncomfortable. (For both of us.)
The other day, I picked him up from school and because I am truly trying to be “open and totally ok” with The Sex Ed, I was all “So! How was sex ed? What did you learn today?” And he was all mortified and turned white and said “It was totally gross and disgusting.” And I was all “Why!? What did you talk about it?” And he was all “Um, I don’t want to talk about it Mom.”
I honestly think he would have rather allowed me to stab him in the leg repeatedly with a #2 pencil then continue the conversation, but DAMMIT, I am an involved, open minded parent and I was not going to be shut out like that.
“Son, I’m your mother, there isn’t anything you can’t tell me. I already know everything you’re learning, so tell me.”
“Ok. We had to watch the movie about ‘girls.’ And we learned about, you know, tampons and stuff.”
At this point, I had conflicting emotions. I kind of wanted to throw up because OMG. VAGINA TALK WITH MY 13 YEAR OLD SON IS FREAKING ME OUT, but, I also wanted to be mature and matter of fact because VAGINAS ARE A PART OF THIS THING WE CALL LIFE.
I tried to be mature. I honestly did, but The Akward took over and I took the TOTALLY IMMATURE ROUTE. I started tickling him and saying things in a really high pitched voice like “HAHA! Andrew knows about The Period. TAAAAAMPPOOOONSS. WEEEEEEE!”
Can you feel the akwardness?
The next day, he stormed in to the house and said “MOM! Sex Ed is getting grosser by the day! Today we had to watch a baby be born.”
My first thought was “Holy SHIT! My son saw a V-A-G-I-N-A” and, again, I wanted to throw up, but this time I took the high road, people.
“There’s nothing gross about a baby being born son, it’s natural and a beautiful, spiritual experience that changes your life forever in the greatest way.”
I think he likes it better when I act 12 because the kid didn’t know how to respond.
“Whatever, mom. There was blood and amniotic fluid and um, mom…”
I panicked a little because, OH MY GOD! What if he’s about to say something really gross, like “And the womans vagina was all hairy” so I started thinking of ways to cut him off. Perhaps I could interrupt him by saying something really important, like, you know, “hold on, I have to fart!” but before I could interrupt, he finished his sentence with “And the baby looked like an alien.”
What a relief! I did not have to hear my son say “vagina”, but! I did have to hear my son say “HYMEN”, (As in “Hey, mom, is a HYMEN a male or female part, I forgot” to which I responded with a dry heave and a “Um, which do you THINK it belongs to” because um… I totally wasn’t prepared for him to blurt THAT out all non chalantly.)
Knowing that my son “knows things” now is effecting me in ways I never imagined. For instance, the other day, Tony and I were making out in the room and when he got up to go outside, I was all “OMG! You can’t go outside like that! Look! You can see your, um, you know, boner and ANDREW TOTALLY KNOWS WHAT THAT IS AND OMG. WHAT IF HE NOTICES?”
(True story! I actually freaked out about that. OH MY GOD. HELP.)
Perhaps I’d have a completely different attitude towards this whole “Discussing sex with my children” if my parents had discusssed sex with me. But, my parent did NOT discuss sex with me, except to tell me that you get pregnant by standing too close to a man and so I’m kind of lost as to how to not make it one big “HAHAH YOU KNOW WHAT A PERIOD AND A HYMEN IS” joke.
Tears of Cheese.
I’ll never forget the day my first son was born. It was thirteen years ago today.
I was sure I was having a girl. My mom was sure I was having a girl. My entire family was sure I was having a girl. Everyone at my baby shower was sure I was having a girl and spoiled me with lots of little pink outfits and pink blankets.
After many hours of labor and over 2 hours of intense pushing, imagine our surprise when my first baby finally slid out of my vagina and the nurse yelled…”It’s a BOY!”
This is the conversation that followed.
Me: HAHAHAHA!
Tony: Thank you JESUS!
Me: Ok, enough with that, Tony.
Doc: He SHOULD be thanking Jesus.
My mom: It’s a BOY??
Me: HAHAHAHA
Tony: Hallelujah. (Don’t ask. He was SUPER SPIRITUAL that day.)
Me: Tony!
Mom: It’s A BOY? Ohhhhhhh man.
Me: HAHHAHAHAH
My mom: What are you thinking right now, Y?
Me: About all of the clothes I have to take back!
Tony: HAHAHA
Mom: HAHAHAH
Me: HAHAHAHA
Doc: Did they TELL you it was a girl.
Me: No. I just thought it was.
My Mom: We HOPED it was. It was a hope.
Doc: Idiots.
Ok, he didn’t call us idiots, but you know he was thinking it.
I’m so glad it wasn’t a girl. The poor thing would have been named Whitney Elaine.
WHITNEY! Or wait, was it Soriah?
SORIAH GRACE! It would have been Soriah Grace.
She would have hated me at some point in her life.
It was a boy. A little boy.
I had a son.
A perfect, soft, scrunchy faced, precious little boy.
I’ll never forget how perfect he was the first time I layed my bloodshot, tired eyes on him. He had all of his fingers. All of his toes. Scrunched up little eyes, eyebrows shaped just like his daddy’s, a nose just like his grandpa’s. Fuzzy, black hair and full, perfectly shaped lips.
The first time I held him in my arms, I felt my heart explode into a million little pieces and I knew in an instant that it no longer belonged to me. That little boy in my arms was now the Owner of My Heart.
I can’t describe the pride I felt as I stared at his sweet little face. I can’t describe the love I felt as I kissed his fuzzy little head. I can’t describe the joy I felt as he wrapped his precious little hand around my finger. There are no words to describe it.
Amazing. Awesome. Incredible. Exciting. Beautiful. Astounding. Breathtaking. Miraculous. Marvelous.
Those are powerful words, and yet, they don’t even BEGIN to accurately describe what I felt in my soul on the day my son was born.
My son.
Nor or there any words that could accurately describe what I feel inside of my soul today. The day that beautiful little baby turns thirteen.
I’m happy. I’m sad. I’m excited. I’m sad. I’m overjoyed. I’m sad. I’m proud. I’m sad.
Bittersweet That’s the only way to describe what I’m feeling.
Last night, we had the Greatest Dinner Conversation Ever.
Shrinkage. Sweaty balls. (And what one must do to unstick that sweaty ball from ones leg.) How to release poops that are stuck.
We all laughed so hard we cried.
At one point, Andrew was taking a drink and as Ethan got up to demonstrate how HE deals with Sweaty Balls, Andrew spit his drink out and started choking from laughing so hard.
It was in that moment it hit me that my son is a teenager. And at that point, the tears from laughter turned into tears of sadness, because I don’t know if I can handle him growing so quickly.
First. The Hairy balls. Then, the Fuzzstache. NOW THE TEENAGE YEARS.
Girls. Dates. Dances. Getting jobs. Driving.
Time is moving incredibly fast and my heart hasn’t had a chance to catch up to speed.
That sweet smelling, soft, calm, perfect little baby is now a teenager who has an incredible sense of humor, who is witty, kind, respectful and thoughtful of others.
And as I watch him become a young man, I feel just as much pride as I did the first time I held him in my arms. I’m so damn proud of the incredible human being he’s become in the thirteen years of his life.
My God, I’m so proud of him.
And yet, at the same time, I wish I could shrink him back into that little baby boy who cooed, and cried, and sucked on his little fingers and wanted nothing more than to be cuddled safely in his mommy’s arms. Because as much as I love the person he has become, as much as I enjoy his company, as much as I enjoy every day with this amazing young man, my heart aches because I can no longer hold him in my arms and kiss him all over the way I did when he was just my little baby boy.
I wish someone had warned me about how much it would hurt to watch your children grow. I mean, it’s beautiful and wonderful and exciting… but it’s equally painful and sad. Because you there comes a point where you realize they will be independent adults and when you’ve spent your ENTIRE ADULT LIFE being “their mom”, the thought that one day they won’t need you in that way anymore is a crushing blow to your heart.
Leave it to ME to make my son’s THIRTEEN BIRTHDAY a depressing event, rather than the joyous, exciting one it should be.
I know HE’S not sad today, I know he’s the happiest kid alive today because he can now proclaim that “HE IS A TEENAGER!”
I feel like an ass of a mother for having to go to a wedding on this momentous day in his life and he knows I’m not happy about it and is making me feel like a bigger ass at every chance he gets.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me on my THIRTEENTH BIRTHDAY!”
And just as I start to cry from guilt, he laughs and says “I’m just teasing you mom! I understand that you have to go, I’m not mad at you.”
(Can you understand why I’m so damn proud of him? Not just proud. DAMN PROUD.)
I love that boy, even if he did go and turn into a “teenager” faster than I had ever imagined and I truly hope that this is a great birthday for him. He deserves all of the happiness in the world.