Here I am again - nearly nine months after my last post. Life has been busy and mildly chaotic, but good. I finally sat down to write again a couple of weeks ago, and am hoping to return this on a more regular basis...
I have the privilege and honor to raise four kids in various stages of growth, maturity, and adulthood. Today, is the little guy’s 9th birthday, and I guess I really wasn’t ready for it.
The oldest is 21, in and out and managing his own schedule and life. He works full time as a EMT and is finishing up classes for his associate's degree. He’s living life and living it well, working hard and saving money, making good decisions and doing this whole adult thing like a pro. He’s mature and respectful, thoughtful and funny.
Child number two is 19 years old. She’s a junior in college and very much a free spirit, yet also somehow grounded in a beautiful way. She’s a dancer, working toward a degree in performance and choreography (with a professional writing minor). This one was rather unsure about the whole “college thing,” worried that she wasn’t ready, or wouldn’t make friends, or couldn’t hack it academically. Her concerns were unfounded and she is thriving. THRIVING! She stepped up to the organizational demands of a busy course load, rehearsal schedule, and part-time job as a barista. She’s kind and friendly, modest and lovely.
Then the nine year gap. The space between child number two and child number three sometimes feels enormous. Although we never intended a span that wide (foster care, adoption ups and downs, and an interminable wait), we’ve been blessed with the assistance of two older kids who learned how to feed, change, and bathe little ones. They willingly played toddler and preschool games and read books to their younger brothers over and over. They still hold hands with the littles in a parking lot and love to serve as chauffeurs for sibling ice cream outings or a visit to the arcade when everyone is home together. The younger two look up to these “big kids” with much love and admiration—even if they won’t admit it out loud.
So, then there’s number three. The bigger of the little guys is almost eleven. To be accurate, it’s still three months until his birthday. Trust me, that’s important. He likes to be precise. This one is our long-awaited sibling—the child we thought would finally complete our family. He’s witty and sweet, an excellent reader, and nicknamed “The Professor” for good reason. He’s wise and almost eerily adult-like at times. He has little interest in “childish things” and spends much of his free time researching various interests on his iPad and making lists and charts. He understands wordplay and humor well, and he has the best giggle.
Then there’s the little guy, the baby (don’t dare call him that!), the caboose. My youngest: the one with the tough guy exterior. The toughest. He talks about guns and swords and crimes and wants to watch horror movies (we don’t let him, he’s 9!). He walks with a bit of a swagger (a bit of that is due to hip weakness from the diagnosis of Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy—nevertheless, it helps with the bad boy persona). He throws attitude my way on the regular. He’s into dinosaurs and police chases and bad guys and “danger.” Like I said, the toughest. (Proof positive? The above photo, taken at the Alcatraz Crime Museum in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. His fingerprint was taken and he was booked for Grand Theft Auto.)
But underneath that outer layer? He’s sweet and soft and thoughtful. When we pass an ambulance, he mentions his oldest brother without fail. When we stop by any coffee shop, he asks about when we might see his sister next. “Mommy, will you scratch my back?”—every day, several times a day, said with his sweet little lisp. He only recently quit sneaking into our bed nearly nightly, while the other three never slept with us, EVER. He’s the blessing we never expected to need, but it turns out this little soul is the one who actually made our family complete.
He’s funny, creative, filled with energy, and a little bit crazy—but he’s the perfect complement to the rest of us. He’s more than a little bit naughty and he’s mouthy at times, but we can all see that he’s figuring out how to navigate his place in our home and in the world. That’s a really difficult task.
Today, he turns 9. To him, that sounds so grown up. He wants to be bigger. He wishes to be older. He yearns to be able to do things he can’t yet do. He can’t wait to be a “big kid.”
But he’s still my little guy. He curls up next to me to watch a movie. He wants to do things like ride the barrel train at a local festival, something the 10 year old deems “too childish.” He likes to catch bugs, play with LEGOs and snuggle with our kittens. He still calls me “mommy.” One of his favorite things in life is a popsicle.
I’ve been at this parenting gig for a long time. Some stretches are enormously difficult. Other beautiful bits fly by so fast that I long to hold on just a little while longer. I continually aim for a daily balance of learning, discipline, and getting things accomplished, hopefully mixed with fun, play, and mini-adventures. So, I guess I’ll keep doing my best to soak it all in, making memories, loving each of my kids along the way, and letting them grow into the amazing humans they were meant to be, despite the bittersweet I sometimes feel deep in my being due to it all going by so fast.
“Mommy, may I have a popsicle?”
Yes, sweet boy, you may.
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