i’ve just realized tonight that i’ve written almost exclusively about the boys lately. kurt vonnegut died last week and i didn’t even note it in passing.

things happen. every day. they keep happening and it’s as if i’m in a vacuum where the only substantial things that cross my radar are the fruit of my loins, and the occasional pop culture reference for fun. when did this happen?

i remember reading so-called “mommy blogs” with an exasperated sigh and thinking to myself, “don’t these women have anything else in their lives? isn’t there anything besides their children that lends meaning to their existence?” then i would click away in boredom, not caring about jackson’s potty training adventures. unable to read one more syllable about rainbow moonbottom sunbeam’s adventures at daycare. it just seemed sad to me.

and now here i am posting about kaileb at camp. jacob’s website. kaileb said this. jacob did that.

where is my life? what have i been up to?

my therapist. his last parting shot before his bitter leave was to ask me, “when your children leave the house, when it’s just you and matt, what will you live for? will it be work? what will you do for fun when there are no kids to satisfy? do you know?”

huh. what an asshat that guy is. like i know? he says that and then, “oh time is up! remember! this is our last session! for. ev. errrrrrrrrrrrrr!” what am i supposed to do with that? but he peeled my hands off the door of his office and kicked me out with both feet as i went screaming all the way down the hall, “I DON’T KNOW THOUGH! I DON’T KNOW! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME FIND THE ANSWER FIRST!”

he didn’t. i’m still wondering. for the nonce.

i have an excuse for this behaviour. it feels like it’s all slipping away from me now. i feel Time’s knock quickening at my door. i don’t mean Death’s grasp is tightening at my throat with each passing day, it’s nothing so morbid as all that. i’m still young and (hopefully) i still have a long life ahead of me. but my boys are growing up fast.

jacob turned 13 this month. he took the big leap from innocence to his teens and while i put on a brave face, i think i now realize i may be having a nervous breakdown in the face of it.

everybody has their own version of My Childhood Horror Story. then you grow up and have kids of your own. you spend every day in a self-satisfied state of denial, patting yourself on the back, congratulating yourself on the enlightened state of nirvana achieved through your magnificent parenting that in no way resembled the parenting you yourself were subjected to, which, in turn, resulted in My Childhood Horror Story.

then, one day, you’re sitting in the living room with your family spread before you –mind-numbing stupidity on the tube, dogs chasing each other through the tangle of shoes and remotes — and you realize you’re them. the story here is the same. only the names have changed.

every generation thinks the one before had it all wrong. we’re sure we’ve got it all figured out. we know all the mistakes our parents made and we’re never going to do that. we’re enlightened.

what a crock. every time one of the boys gets a fever i still think of my mom. i have no clue what i’m doing. i have to call my mom. she’ll know what to do. i’ve been faking it for thirteen years.

listen, not for nothin’ but thirteen is not a kid anymore. that’s a teen.

where did he go? that kid. yesterday he was a drooling mass of giggles and diapers; all fisher price and play doh. now he ‘s five feet three inches of confusion. he’s as familiar and foreign to me as anyone can be. he’s my every waking nightmare and my sweetest dream. who is this kid? where does he go? what does he do? does he like a girl? does she like him too? are there places in his head i would be scared to look?

i looked at him tonight sitting across the table from me and saw a tangle of hormones and raw, naked insecurities. i wondered if they had always been there. had they just shown up tonight, by coincidence, on the same night it was revealed to me that he was now a teen and no longer my little boy who used to eat mud? that couldn’t be right. you don’t just wake up with that much anguish on your face. have i just not seen it until now then? and if that, then what else have i missed? have i been sleeping all this time? only to awaken now and see that sitting before me is a boy aged a decade past the point of last remembering? i mean really remembering. really seeing. i see him every day. in a hundred different environments. but when’s the last time i checked in? i can’t honestly remember.

and now he’s sitting here in front of me; an old soul, twisted and ever-changing.

he’s so much like me. like i was. i see everything of me at 13 in him. and more. i see all the things i couldn’t see about myself because i was so busy being myself. i see him aching to be the center of attention, mingled with the terror of people noticing him. i see the promise in everything he could become. i want to tell him. i want to say, “don’t worry about the things they say. it doesn’t matter anyway. in a few years it will pass away and they’ll be as unimportant in your life as the napkin on the table. it doesn’t matter if you think you can’t. try it anyway. time is so short and life is so dull and you gotta try. you have to make it count. you’ll want the stuff you look back on to burn bright in the brain. you want a flame that roars, not a flicker barely worth remembering. you’re worth so much more than you think. you’re priceless and invaluable and no one will ever get that about you so understand it about yourself and forgive everybody else for not understanding the treasures you hold within. be humble and still, when everybody else is blustering on about their greatness. let yours speak for itself. it will. it’s too much to keep inside. continue to be as thoughtful and kind as you’ve always been. keep looking out for the little guy. always protect those who need a helping hand. you’re brilliant and creative and stronger than you’ll ever know.”

but when i say stuff like that to him i get the cocked head and the narrow eyes. the look of someone who suspects ulterior motives. the face of someone who already distrusts the world around him. am i too late then? is any of it sinking in?

ah, god, look at him. oh, the joy and terror wrapped up in the past thirteen years of that face. thirteen years of learning and growing and sharing. dark, scary times when i thought i just am not cut out for this gig. someone obviously got the wrong person for the job. then: times i thought my heart would come apart at the seams with the beautiful rapture of getting to be a part of this ride. times i thought i couldn’t take the euphoria that comes with the love of a mother for her son. it’s simply too much for one heart to bear.

we learn our lessons in small doses. they come to us not in big sweeping gestures of understanding and enlightenment, but in tiny, almost unnoticeable breaths that go in and out of us, sustaining life; carrying us forward. it’s the lightbulb that hesitates, flickers on. it’s the realization that we should save our work often to avoid lost data…but only after losing a lot of data. the instruction sinks in slowly.

it’s the little things, really. they aren’t moving out tomorrow. i’m not packing either of them off to the army in the coming weeks. they are still but 12 and 13 and i’ve got time yet. plenty of time for family outings. trips. barbecues. parties. holidays and vacations. lots of memories to be made. but there is this that i’ve dreaded for thirteen years: “we don’t like the kid’s toothpaste anymore. it’s too sweet.”

we are so careless with the time. so careless. i didn’t even sense its passing.

i just bought the tube two weeks ago, walking the aisle of the grocer full of ignorance and bliss. there’s two seventy nine plus tax down the drain. it’ll sit in the bathroom mocking me until i tire of the sting and toss it in the trash in bitter defeat. i saw it there this morning and kaileb’s voice came back to me; echoed in my ear like a death sentence on a dream long denied. i had thought jacob might not use it. i did. it crossed my mind when i pulled it from the shelf. but i reasoned it away with the justification that there was always kaileb. he wouldn’t let me down. but of course the trigger would have to be pulled by him.

we learn our lessons in small doses. passing remarks in the bathroom hallway. a tube of toothpaste and the light comes on.

what will i do then? will i become one of those people who treats her dogs like her children? god forbid! will i cling to them? pass each day meddling in their lives, refusing to let go? not if i can help it. perhaps i’ll find interests of my own again. i’ll have a life of my own, rich with possibility. friends and activities. hobbies. matt and i can create memories of our own. together. just the two of us. perhaps.

i had a life. quite a life, thank you and good day. i knew interesting people and did interesting things. i was deeply passionate about art and culture. i wrote long into the night and awoke mid-morning with bits of paper stuck to my face and a nasty hangover. i traveled. took classes just for the sake of learning something new. i dabbled. i was a dabbler.

look, i’m their mom. i’m supposed to teach them. from their first breath to my last i am to guide them and show them the way. but i’ve learned more from them. they’ve taught me how to love, unconditionally. they’ve taught me how to fight harder than i’ve ever done. for anything. through them i’ve mastered the art of letting go, even when my strongest impulse is to hold tight with everything i’ve got. the lessons learned. small doses over thirteen crazy years.

the latest in the long line: start now. i know time is waning. they know it too. the hands of the clock tick ever onward to the end and one day they’ll be gone. they’re telling me every day to get ready now. they love me. they need me. they appreciate me. yes, yes. but part of all that love means being as honest with me as their limited consciousness will allow. i have to start now because i might be caught off guard if i wait any longer. time is a tricky, slippery little devil. i could go to sleep tomorrow night and wake up monday with an empty nest. the preparations must be made. if left alone, a mother could grieve forever.

i say to the boys, “get off the computer. put down that joystick. don’t you want to get outside and play in the sunshine? call a friend? there’s a whole world outside you know!?” then i roll my eyes as i watch my words fall on deaf ears. i wonder then: when will they ever learn their lesson??

they are saying to me, “get out of the house. put down the broom. don’t you want to call up a girlfriend for lunch? go to a play? there’s a whole world outside you know!?”

oh yes, i know. i know. i used to live in it. i think i’ll go back.