Years Are Minutes

I'm home alone on my last Wednesday before summer vacation. I didn't even realize that today I packed Lily's last lunch of 7th grade. I'm glad it was a good one. She's not a breakfast girl. She loves lunch. I love marking beginnings and honoring endings. My baby girl is almost an 8th grader. I'm not a fan of the getting older part always, but this is a school year that I'm ready to leave behind. And yet I wrote honestly in her journal yesterday that I am awed by her grace, strength and maturity. Add to that resilience too. She excelled in school again this year despite the drama, and I am just so stinking proud of her in school, on the mound, in life.

I made Teddy a couple almond croissants this morning and sent him on his way for his English exam. He took my car and I expect to get a call soon asking if he can golf this afternoon. Some of his senior friends are trying to put together a tournament this week because they, of course, do not have exams. My baby boy is almost a junior. Lately, I've been waking up in the middle of the night worrying about him leaving home. It may be a tad premature, but the thing is that I know years are minutes. I've got two minutes.

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They can make their own breakfasts and lunches, but the truth is that I like to do it. They're only mine for such a short season that I want to take care of them and spoil them as much as I can so long as they appreciate it...me. Scarcely a meal goes by that I don't get a thank you from both of them. She also thanks me for making special trips to Trader Joe's for avocados, and he thanks me for keeping all his uniforms clean. Truthfully, I hear thank you at least a dozen times a day. It's my love language.

And the thing that they hear at least a dozen times a day is I love you. You know you can never say those three words too much. I say it even though I know he's an independent teenager who towers over me and is rarely home. I say it even when...especially when...she's annoyed with me because I'm her mom and when you're almost 13, moms are often if not usually annoying.

The thing is...I'll annoy them and invade their space to the end of time to let them know how proud I am of them and how much I love them.