Yesterday, my oldest son turned 9.  Because the nerd apple fell perilously close to the nerd tree, he loves all things fantastic and mythological, including Harry Potter.  We went a little crazy with the Pinterest projects and the result was a pretty impressive Hogwartsian extravaganza which included wands made from chopsticks and hot glue, hand-stenciled goody-bags, and a Golden Snitch piñata made with my own special papier-mâché recipe, which is basically flour, glue, and tears of exhaustion.

Magic is real and it comes in the form of hot glue, fishing line, and decorative duct tape


When people commented that we seemed to go to a lot of trouble for this party, my response was a wistful and cliche,  “You only turn 9 once.”  As my sweet boy is rapidly morphing into a pre-teen, I’m getting a little panicky about how fast it’s all going.  I know it won’t belong before he’ll be too cool for a big, corny party.  So while he’ll let me, we’re going nuts with the decorations and the party games, because that feels like childhood, and I want childhood to last a little longer.

After the guests had left and my husband and I high-fived, I sat down for the first time in hours, my feet aching and my heart full.  I started looking through my social media and came across this blog post, and I had a little meltdown.  Maybe it was just the desperate fatigue which comes from painting dozens of paper towel tubes to resemble floating candles, but I just couldn’t stop the tears.  The author of the post wrote simply and meaningfully about reaching the milestone of her son’s 18th birthday, and I thought to myself, “Oh my God, we’re already halfway there.”  I can glimpse the dizzying pace of change that will come with everything that the next nine years will bring, and it nearly takes my breath away.

I hope I can be one of those gracious moms who gives her child roots and wings and all that crap, but if I’m being honest with myself, I think I’m going to struggle with letting go. But this is halftime, I suppose.  Time for me to take a breath and get a game plan figured out for next nine years.  Anyone got a playbook I can borrow?

This kid.  Srsly.

One thought on “Halftime

  1. Sheila Clapkin April 23, 2017 / 11:22 pm

    Thank You for sharing this wonderful event in your handsome, expressive boy. Bravo.

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