Big Boy

My son turned 14 last Friday. I saw him briefly that afternoon, long enough to hand him his birthday gift of video games and feed him some buffalo wings. (2nd on his fave food list, right under pizza) That, my friends, is the definition of irony; buying more video games for an avid teenage gamer. To be honest, the only clue I have that he is alive and present some days is the water running for his two-hour showers. But who am I kidding, I love that boy like crazy and he is a solid, industrious chap. Awesome really, and taller than me already. We are in full scale summer mode here. That means a nightly argument about why bedtime should not exist when school is out of session. Left to themselves, the boys usually opt for the 3 a.m. option and sleep ‘til noon or 1. It is amazing really, but I suppose a rite or right of summer, depending on how you look at it. I am just now grumpily easing back into the work routine myself after two glorious weeks of vacation, so I can’t really blame them. I pulled a few late nighters myself, practically giddy with the freedom of uninterrupted, alarm-clock free sleep. My thoughts after his momentous occasion are that I am so fortunate. Each stage of life I have experienced with my kids I thought to myself, “Wow, this is it! This is the best age. Look what they can do now!” I have loved it all and I’m happy because it just keeps getting better. Laters.