Halftime


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.

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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?

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This kid.  Srsly.
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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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