I’ve just completed a whirlwind week. Parties and practices, appointments and obligations. Unofficially dubbed as Zane’s Fantabulous Birthday Week of Celebrations, it more closely resembled an out of control train perpetually gaining speed, rapidly approaching a hairpin turn. Or a wildfire. Maybe a drowning. Call it what you will, it was exhausting and I am tired.
My kids are tired as well. I’m not exactly sure when they decided to call it a night. Stories vary and details are sketchy. Someone mentioned 2am. Others said never. I feel the truth lies somewhere in between. Heavy eyes and lethargy tell me that I’m not far off.
I woke this morning to the carnage that is a sleepover with friends. The tent outside appeared to have been used but not for long. Bodies lay strewn about the living room floor. The room smelled of sleepiness. ”Where’s Zane?” I asked Zia.
“He and Matthew went hunting for snakes,” she replied without looking up.
Tomes — delivered as matter-of-factly as if she were asking, “What’s for breakfast?” Which, by the way, were the exact words that came from her mouth next.
I’ve spent the better part of nine years shaping a world ….. no, that’s not it.
Preparing him as best I could for what the world around him is about to throw in his direction. Has been throwing. He’s strong, confident, independent. He’s more poised to handle it than I was at his age.
I’d like to think that I am responsible for that. I realize it’s more likely that he is who he is becoming solely because of him. Not me. He’s a good kid. He picks good friends and they are good for each other.
Damn, I wish I was nine again.