This morning, my son Alex burst into my room, bubbling with excitement to show me the telescope and binoculars he crafted from paper, tape, and staples.
“Can I take these when Jake and I visit Grandpa today? I want to show him!”
“Absolutely! I’m sure he’ll love them.”
“Mom, they’re not real, you know.” He grinned widely and started laughing.
“I know,” I replied, and we both shared a chuckle.
“Mom, can I have a big hug?”
He leapt into my arms, wrapping his slender limbs around my neck. He planted a kiss on my cheek, and I returned the gesture. His skin is still so soft.
What a stark contrast to his older brother, Sam, whose face now boasts a scruffy beard. Sam rarely kisses me on the cheek anymore—he prefers to kiss the top of my head, which is much easier since he stands at least five inches taller than I do.
Alex is still the only one in the family shorter than me, and I cherish that. I adore being 10 years old. I’m doing my best to relish every moment of this age before we transition to 11, which will usher in middle school, a few pimples, and probably braces.
I have just a few weeks left in the realm of 10, and as Alex is my youngest, this will be my final experience of this age. He’s changing almost by the hour! One minute he’s hugging me and asking about his baby days, and the next he’s complaining about not being old enough to drive or shave.
I love 10 because, even though he can do so much on his own, he’s still a child at heart. He just needs a gentle nudge (usually a million reminders) to brush his teeth and take a shower. I don’t have to hover around him or stand by the bathroom door, anxious about a shampoo mishap.
Alex still thinks I’m cool and wise. He comes to me with questions and concerns, completely trusting my ability to help. When we go to the library or grab a slice of pizza, he occasionally lets me hold his hand.
He doesn’t need me to wait with him at the bus stop anymore, but he’s always happy to see me when I do. With two teenagers, this is a real boost for my ego! He hasn’t yet mastered the eye-roll that the older boys have perfected.
But I know it’s coming.
It’s such a cliché to say that time flies, but wow, it really does!
The other night at dinner, the kids and I were chatting about the latest movies we wanted to see and the day’s happenings. They all seemed so grown-up—too grown-up. I couldn’t stand it anymore. If I couldn’t halt their aging, I could at least act a bit younger.
I tossed a spitball at Sam, who laughed and tossed it back. Alex glanced up and said, “Mom, we’ve talked about our table manners!” before taking a sip of iced tea and gargling it, which made us all burst out laughing. Later, as we cleared the table, those long, skinny arms wrapped around me again, a delightful surprise. “I love you, Mom.”
Yep. I’m going to miss 10.
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In summary, the fleeting nature of childhood is something I’m learning to appreciate, especially as my youngest son transitions from the innocence of 10 into the complexities of growing up.