Little m Long a

35 – 6

A painful fruition of timeless yearning and it  hurts no matter what positive spin you try to place on it.

I was damn proud of them all none the less!

Aw…that’s sweet…..

Not so fast, I say.  Just seconds prior to snapping this shot I had to stop them from literally attempting to shove each other off of the enormous rock on which they are perched.

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.

A boy.

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.

I’ve come to believe that in the grand scheme of things, things are just that.  Significance attaches to things it oughtn’t and import is lost.  Soon nothing is.

Loneliness and solitude are unlikely companions among the tumult and the fray that defines daily existence.  And yet it is exactly here where both reside.

It’s been a while.  Maybe too long.

Perhaps not long enough.

Here we go…

I put my 8 year old to bed for the last time tonight.  I kissed him, hugged him tight and wished him a good night as I always do.  He’ll not sleep well, too excited for what tomorrow brings.  I’ll not sleep either for reasons altogether different yet almost entirely the same.

Zane will be celebrating his birthday in the morning.  Nine years.  He’s fairly certain that means he’s grown up, now.  It’ll be a daunting task convincing him otherwise.

(I wrote this two years ago when Zane turned 7.  Two years seems an eternity.  It was only yesterday.)

Thirsty for things that are beyond his realm, far and above what little boys should be concerned.  He looks at the world around him with a discerning eye.  Inquisitive.  Seeking more.  His world is concrete and solid.  Uncertainty and grey confuse him though they do not deter.  Frustrated but never discouraged.

He is confident.

He absorbs the world around, processing and analyzing.  Hours may pass before the questions start.  They are always well thought out and often difficult to answer.  Be prepared.

He plays with bugs and mud and fashions weapons from sticks and broken toys.  He throws his ball to no one and tackles them as if they were.  He is engaging in a crowd, content with solitary.

He laughs and you can not help but join him.  He is in a place where you wish to be.  Where you need to be.

Nine years passes in but a moment.

I once had a little boy.  Face of an angel.  A cherub.  A little boy that hated carrots and spewed vomit like a child possessed.  It made him no less endearing.  That little boy is gone, long since replaced by the young man before me now.  Face of an angel.

How do you encapsulate the essence, the wonder that is a boy becoming?  My words are certainly insufficient.  My heart inadequate.  Fortunately–none of that matters to him.

He’s happy and therefore I am.

Happy Birthday Wildman!

The thing about your kids getting older — as if there was just one thing and you could possibly encapsulate coming of age with a simple synopsis — anyway, the thing about your kids getting older is that you find yourself less of a presence in their significant experiences.  Oh, you’re still around, you know, close enough to offer instruction or gleam some sort of lesson of lasting import.  Just not close enough, it seems, to curtail unwise decisions.

The thing about your kids getting older is that life is now imparting instruction not just you.

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