Land o'Lessa

You see, eighteen is just too much, by my count. Eighteen is not allowed. Eighteen is responsibility and adulthood and the ability to get a tattoo without my permission. Eighteen is the need for making one’s own decisions, and branching out, and preparing to leave home and being on one’s own. Eighteen is too much for this mama to handle.

Eighteen.

Eighteen years ago, The Boy did the most AMAZING thing – he made me a mother. After 28.5 hours of labor, an epidural and a c-section, they placed this wee little 7lb 6.5oz man in my arms, and said he was mine. He had reddish hair, a scream to wake the world, and little wrinkly toes and a cute button nose. I was 22, terrified and enthralled all at once. And I fell instantly in love.

Little did I know how much he would change me, change who I was into who I am today. I remember his first steps – that came before he crawled, because he preferred to roll around on Papa and Nana’s floor to get where he wanted to go. His first teeth, his first plate of spaghetti, his first chocolate bar, his first birthday, his first ride in car, his first pair of boxing gloves, his first friends, his first days at school – all the way to his first dance, his first time behind the wheel, his first job, his first girl, first heartache… Each of them were MY firsts too – the first time I discovered them through a Mama’s eyes, and knew the little tug of pride and heartache each bit of growing up caused.

He’s grown up into an amazing young man. He’s kind, he’s faithful, he’s strong, and strong willed, and even more important, strong of heart. He loves and protects his sisters, he is an amazing friend, he loves unconditionally, gives happily and understands the power of forgiveness and understanding. He’s still exploring, learning, striving. He isn’t quite sure what he wants to be doing with the rest of his life, yet and that’s perfectly ok, because what he’s doing RIGHT NOW, is the best thing ever – he’s being himself… something he and I have learned to do and be together.

He’s my son.
And today? He’s 18, and officially a man.
And he chose to let me start it with a hug, immortalized.

Happy Birthday, baby boy. I am so proud of you.
all my love,
Mama.

TGIF – because if it weren’t for it being Friday I’d be all ready to give up!

You see, my darling baby boy (Yeah, the one that’s a foot taller than me – what’s your point?) came home the other day flinging things and searching under and growling and muttering under his breath. It seems that when he was at the local superstore, he changed in the bathroom out of his work clothes – and apparently left his wallet sitting on the sink.

…

He realizes this a full 24 hours later, chaos ensues, and lo and behold -no wallet. So, we hit the bank right away to cancel his bank card, and then checked the lost and found and with the desk, and no one had turned it in. He had receipts and stuff in there that were pretty important, but mostly it was his bank card and his license. Which meant he couldn’t drive out to his buddies house that night, because with HIS luck, he’d get stopped. Not good. Unhappy boy.

So I calmed him down, and today, we head to the DMV when he got home from school. He woke me up (I tend to sleep in the mornings after they go to school – specially after being unable to sleep the night before, actually getting UP and starting a pot o’beans n ham at 5:30 am!) – and then nagged and rushed until I headed out the door to the DMV – his favorite place in the whole world.

Not.

I fill out the paperwork, and settle in to wait. It was less than 10 minutes, so I was like SCORE – we’re gonna get out of here fast! And then she asked for an alternative ID for my son and I realize… it’s still sitting on my desk.

Oy.
Supermom FAIL.

So I call Auntie, she says she’ll grab it and bring it to us, but she had to finish what she was doing, and then she picked up Peppermist and the dog, and then the dog got out, and then she finally got to the DMV and the dog got out AGAIN and we had to chase him down, and then! Finally! an hour after we started to do something simple…

Success! Replacement License procured!

Only for me to have to tell him he can’t have the car overnight because his little sister has a Swim Meet tomorrow and I need the car. Some days, I just can’t win.

At least we still have ham’n'beans still a slow cookin – and it smells FANTASTIC. Redemption approaches…

So, my son, while he was still driving my car a couple days ago (His truck is fixed now, WHEEE! Well, mostly. It was making an odd noise when the Boy left for work… anyway) I got this GIDDY call from my sister.

Her: I’m TELLIN!
Me:…tellin what? (damn, what did I do?
Her: Did your son call you?
Me: …. nooooooooo (oh shit, what did HE do now…)
Her: he just called Uncle to pull him out of the DITCH!
Me: ….in MY CAR?

So yes. The boy had gone around the corner, and in his typical fashion (I imagine) was “drifting” (though I’ve TOLD him that drifting is done on PAVEMENT not snow – what they do is SLIDING) and put himself in the ditch. At least, that’s what I assumed. I also figured that he wouldn’t call and fess up, because his daddy? NEVER would have.

He surprised me.

Boy: So… has your car been in the ditch yet?
Me: Not while I’VE been driving it..
Boy: CRAP. Auntie tattled, didn’t she.
Me; Oh yes she did.

Now, the boy’s story is this: He was minding his own business, driving down the middle of the road and SUDDENLY AND HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW OR WHY he was in the ditch, and unable to get out, even with my 4×4.

Umhm. He still sticking to the story too. Uncle pulled him out, he got to work on time, and I forgot about it really, until Auntie and I went shopping together today and I went and picked her up. And she pointed out the tire tracks. Now, I’m not gonna continue to tell the boy that _I_ think he was “drifting” and slid too far, because he knows. However, I WILL give you the following evidence and let you decide yourself.

Observe:

Now, sure. SOME of those tracks are from the Truck that pulled him out. HOWEVER, please note the width of the road:

Ummmmmmmmhmmmmmm.
I rest my case.

You, my darling son, can tell me whatever ya like – but you been BUSTED.

You know, I’m working really really REALLY HARD to not realize that he’s graduating in May, that he turns 18 in March, that he’s Practically A Grown Up and my parental control will not be near as controlling as I’d like it to be for my little boy forever and ever amen. I’m TRYING to put blinders on – but OH NO. He has to go and do things like… oh, brandish his new Class Ring all over the place.

Harumph.

It came in the mail last week, and the boy couldn’t be more pleased! Even so, I love how the photo of his hand describes so many things about my son. For example:

1. His hands are HUGE. They swallow mine, and I have big hands for a girl!

2. His hand is DIRTY. Dude. Could you BE more of a boy? Wash your hands!

3. He’s cracked his knuckle there on something, and in typical boy fashion, keeps picking at it. Srsly Boy? Gross. And also? WASH YOUR HANDS.

4. Look at all the nicks and scars – this boy is CLUMSY. Usually with sharp and pointy things.

5. Those hands are not just large, but strong, just as strong as the heart and mind of my PRESHUSH BEBE BOY. They are hands that he uses to help up a friend in need, hands he uses to help make something work that was broken, hands he uses to defend his friends, hands he uses to protect his sisters, hands he uses to console his poor mama who’s not handling this growing up thing very well.

Sigh. This growing up stuff sucks.

When we had The Boy, I was momentarily terrified. I mean, I had a sister, no brothers, my mother was a sister, no brothers, my dad raised daughters, and well, who knew how to raise a BOY? And more importantly, how do we raise a BOY who is sensitive enough that all the girls (and their mama’s and papa’s) will be pleased to know him, but who can also kick as when he needed too? I mean, I WAS a girl. Girls I understand. (and, sorta, ya know, fear. haha.) But a BOY?

Fortunately, as my kids are fond of saying, I have the mind of a 16 year old boy, and I think we’ve managed to do pretty well in the past almost 18 years. The boy is strong, sensitive, knows when to fight, when to back down, and most importantly, treats the girls he knows (aside from his sisters, of course) with the utmost respect. They turn to him as the best friend, the one with the strong shoulders, the one they can talk too, who will respect them and not ask for anything in return.

This of course means he doesn’t have a girlfriend – but as I keep telling him, girls marry their best friends, not the asshole badboys. So hang in there, your time is coming…

So how did it come about? There were a few times of disagreement with my husband, but the one thing he ALWAYS insisted on was that The boy never hit a girl. Ever. He and I even fought over that a bit, because I was of the mind that if a girl hauled off and punched him in the face, she kinda deserved what she dished out. Heh. We compromised by teaching the Boy that to hold her so she CANT hit him again is ok. Then it never ever came up, so we didn’t have to worry – because he IS so sweet to his feminine counterparts.

My dad always said that in raising boys, you only had to worry about “one prick in town” but to raise girls was to worry of “every prick in town!” and I’m pleased as all get out to know that the boy is someone parents are pleased to know, that parents trust with their daughters, because he cares for them and takes care of them too. The boy even hugs his mama in public and still tells me that he loves me every single day – even in front of his friends.

So what advice to I have for the raising of boys?
Let them explore. They’re going to do stupid shit – things we think are dangerous, but that’s how boys learn not to do that again (or to do it differently). Remind them that no matter WHAT they do, you’ll be there to pick them up, so that when someone else does something stupid, they’ll be there to do the same. Teach them to respect women, teach him to defend them, and to defend himself. Teach your sons to listen, to think before they act, that it’s not a bad thing to have feelings, and to question why. Sounds lofty, huh? How do you do that?

Lead by example.
It’s really that simple.

Now go hug your boy, and ask him how his day was, huh?