Before you go #6: Eat Cake!

Dear Sam,

Before you go, eat cake!  Today is your day, your 18^th birthday.  It occurred to me as I walked the dog this afternoon that I have no idea how to be the mother of an 18 year old boy.  Or man?  I guess you are officially a man now?  How did I end up the mother of an almost grown man all of a sudden?

A friend of mine with two little girls asked me today how we planned to celebrate you, and I told her we had 3 options on the table, any of which you might discard in favor of doing something with your buddies.  I realized that it wasn’t that long ago I was a mom of littles, easily certain what you would want since fourth and fifth and tenth birthdays are pretty straightforward.  What captivates your hearts and minds for the first ten or twelve birthdays is all over your lives and your accessories and your conversation.  The super hero bandaids and bedsheets and t-shirts, the football cards, the ninja coloring books.  I remember all of your birthdays—Shark Tale and Shrek and High School Musical.  The desires of your heart are more obscure, now.  Even though I try hard to keep the dialogue between us open (and indeed, sometimes you share more than I am ready to hear), so much of your life is lived without me, at school and in your car, at friends’ houses and in the gym and at fast food joints.  Your main gift tonight will be a gift card, because I haven’t really the faintest idea what would make your eyes light up like I once did.  I think you most want freedom and grown up things, and I can only dole those out in bite sized pieces just now.  It’s never quite enough, but so painfully soon, you’ll have all you could want. 

It has been a whirlwind few months, starting with our long overdue family trip that had been postponed since spring break 2020, then racing into the holiday season, and culminating in 6 crazy weeks of non-stop basketball for you and three of your siblings.  We have barely seen one another, and today, as I pause to remember my blue eyed baby boy, first laid in my arms 18 years ago this morning, I vow to slow down and savor YOU in these last few months.  This family is noisy and needy, and our life is crazy crammed with things that demand so much of my time and attention.  You—quieter and more independent than any of my other kids—just sort of slip through from day to day and all of a sudden, the sand is almost gone in the hourglass of my life with you under my roof.  I’m not ready.

I will try not to smother you, my love, but I’m feeling a bit panicked just now.  I know you are in a rush for your future to begin, but I need to cherish you just a little bit longer--my forever Valentine, gift of joy and love on that cold winter morning just a few years ago.

So, we may end up at Texas Roadhouse tonight, where you and your brother will tuck a dozen rolls into my purse to eat at home later and you’ll probably order the salmon and hopefully be a good sport about the cheesy saddle they perch birthday boys on for a raucous, embarrassing birthday song.  Or I’ll cook salmon at home (you love salmon) and fry potatoes and grill asparagus and hope you linger for a little while at my table, even though of course you’ll be excused from dishes on your special day.  Or maybe you’ll invite your buddies over, and I’ll order pizza and soda and stay out of your way, save to serve cake and pause briefly over the stubbled faces of boys I still remember as rowdy middle schoolers.  Almost every one of them is now taller than I.   

Oh Sam, I know you have to grow up and that means growing away, but I wish I could put a cartoon character on your cake and snuggle you to sleep tonight.  I wish I could catch you licking the frosting before the cake is served and carefully rinse the plastic figurines from the top for you to play with later. I wish we had balloons and party bags planned, instead of—well—nothing but some loose options waiting on your whim later tonight. 

But before you go, celebrate wonderful you!  Birthdays necessarily get a little less magical as the years go by, but 18 is a big one and I’m so proud of the man you are becoming.  And if you change your mind and want me to go find a cake with a superhero on it, all you have to do is say the word.