Sunday, December 23, 2012

ten

We went to the park. Felix didn't bring his coat. They're still trying to wrap their minds around the fact that December is cold. The hill was wet. The coatless one almost broke his tailbone. Despite being cold and having a cracked butt, he insisted he was fine.
 They played some more. 
 They ran.
We stopped at Toys R Us so the big one could spend a birthday gift card. We had a very ordinary day of doing what the boys wanted to do. We came home so he could open gifts. He got McGuyver on dvd and the menfolk enjoyed that while I wrote Mr. Simon a long, long letter.
I thought about posting it on here, but it would cheapen the meaning, I think. It's just for him. My boy. My little man cub that is more grown than not. This little boy that baffles me and amazes me and grosses me out and makes me laugh and drives me nuts and makes me so proud and brings me to tears and can rock it out on his guitar. This guy that has man conversations with his dad that I get no part in, who wears deodorant and wants to wear a tie every time we leave the house. The boy who has his head so firmly planted in his butt most days, but can pull out philosophical statements that lead to grown up conversations with eternal implications. My son. This person that I have nurtured and helped shape into the man he is way too quickly becoming. I'm having to let go in small ways, but cling tighter in others. This parent/child thang ain't easy.
What I noticed most on his birthday is that when I bent down to look him in the eye and say, "Happy Birthday," I didn't have to bend down very far. Not very far at all.


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