Thirteen

Once upon a time, there lived a stunning beautiful lovely maiden named Kathryn. She lived a charmed life with two beautiful sons.

Yet, something was missing from her otherwise perfect family. Kathryn tried desperately to convey to her then-husband that she had this odd longing deep inside…and wasn’t sure what it all meant. Hubby remarked that possibly Kathryn had pulled a muscle…or maybe it had to do with the questionable chicken they’d eaten for dinner the night before. She tried again to express that this felt more like a voice calling to her…from deep in her heart…saying, “Don’t forget about me. I’m here…I’m yours…I’m still waiting…” Hubby said the diagnosis for the feeling Kathryn had described was called: insanity.

That insanity was no insanity at all…but the voice of my third (and final) son, Connor….who celebrates his 13th birthday today.

To this day, he swears he doesn’t remember sending me that fateful message…but I’m so happy that I listened.


Excluding the fact that he drooled a lot in those first two years, he was positively perfect. Happy, smart and funny….always funny.

When he was three, one of his favorite words was “oppo-spit” and the Mommy-paparazzi-thing got old. He’d smile for the first shot…then fold his arms and say, “Are…you…happy now??” (CLICK!)

By age 4, his personality had emerged into the amazing, witty, fabulous boy he is today.

Sigh...

Now, he’s officially a teen. He’s got that baby-fine hair above his lip that’s just beginning to resemble a mustache-to-be…although he’s already referring to it as one. Of course, he’s dying to start shaving…as I’m reminding him that “once you start, you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life…don’t be in such a hurry”…while I’m thinking, “No facial hair…please! Don’t you know it ages you like, 10-15 years??” I don’t say this out loud, of course…announcing this to a couple of teen boys would only make them ditch those razors and I’d be reminded of Grizzly Adams every time I looked their way.

How my baby got to be 13, I’ll never know…’specially since I haven’t aged at all. Well, maybe just a little. The fact that Connor has now officially surpassed me in height does not bother me in the least…and I almost never find myself remembering when he’d stand next to me and lovingly place his little arms around my waist. Now, the only one left who's shorter than me is the dog….and I’m relatively confident that’s not going to change.

So Happy Birthday, Connor! I’m proud and grateful to have been a part of your last 13 years…and I’ll cherish every year to come.

(Even if it doesn’t look that way….even when you’re grunting at me in that sullen, glowering monosyllabic teen-age way that makes me want to smack you upside the head and yell, “WTF? Snap out of it!!” Even when you call for a ride home from the mall and when I get there, you’re nowhere to be seen and you don’t answer your cell. Even when I ask you to take out the garbage and all I get is a surly “in a minute”….making me want to pull my hair out....)

Maybe I need to re-visit that whole “insanity” thing…