Sweet Spot

We're no longer minus one. My oldest came back from boarding school last week. He moved himself out of his room, packed his things for storage and home, and said his good-byes as my mom picked him up outside his dorm (he didn't tell his friends that he was leaving a day early). He seems taller, stronger, a little hairier and more in his body than he was when he left. The Choate shirts hugging his biceps, the baseball caps whose brims curve just so to either hide or frame his face, the essence of him revealing itself in casual and obvious ways as he sleeps on the living room sofa with his suitcase in the corner, his keyboard by the entry, his Nintendo Switch plugged in under the television. Now that he is home for the summer, I can't soak in these details enough and take huge pleasure in observing how he relates to the world, his siblings, his parents, our new world. I remind myself that the large exterior doesn't make a man, that he still calls where I live "home."

These little creatures that we birth and then become. The stages, opportunities, sweet spots and frustrations. I've prayed to Peter Pan to share his special powers, to maybe slow the process, even though I know better. Part of the fun is regarding the transformations towards adulting, while at the same time appreciating the moments when they ask you to make their smoothies or bagels, and you do it just because you can (even though they can, too). I realize that parenting is never "over" and I know that I have always preferred being wanted than needed as a mother, but man-o-man, sometimes the sands of the hourglass seem to move too fast!

This cusp, with my oldest now a high school senior and my daughter leaving for Choate in the fall (thankfully with her big brother), I almost can't take it. Let alone the fact that my youngest heads to summer camp for a month next week (his first time going) and will be an almost only child come fall. So, for this summer, my intention is to revel in their messy, needy, absent minded, moody selves. To take in their is-ness, their heartbeats, their rituals and conversations. To observe and participate with this eternally blessed and grateful feeling.

I am not going to think about September until it arrives (except for plane tickets). I'm going to practice the now, be it the splashing outside my window as I write, the echo of Succession from the living room below, the sleeping dogs at my feet. Because if I'm okay with everything, everything is okay.