There's a Last Time for Everything

Tomorrow marks the end of an era in my life as a mom.

In August of 1994, Nate, my oldest son, went to his first day of kindergarten. 

Tomorrow, August 23, 2017, Alex, my youngest son, begins his senior year of high school. 

Tomorrow will be the last first day that I will send one of my children to public school. Of course there are many days of post-high school education ahead for Alex. But tomorrow, he will embark on the big senior year of high school. The last first day. So hard to believe.

He's so ready.

I'm not so sure I am.

Alex is serving as a studentbody officer this year at Bountiful High School. He's the historian, which means he's responsible for taking pictures at all the school events. He will be a busy boy. He already has been since he was appointed to the office last spring. He will spend a lot more time at school activities and with his fellow officers and friends than he will with me this coming school year.

That's how it should be, I suppose.

But it still makes me a little bit (a lot) sad.

This is my last year with him before he embarks on exciting things like a mission for our church and then college. Prior experience with my three older children has taught me that after this year, things will never be the same.

He will still be my boy and he may still live here in my home for a while. 

But it will be different once he graduates from high school. I want to sit here and be in denial about that fact. 

Sometimes having all this experience as a mom makes things harder and harder as I go along. 

So as I get a little teary eyed tomorrow as I make Alex pose in front of the house for the obligatory first-day-of-school picture, I also will commit to savoring the upcoming days, weeks and months of Alex's senior year. I know it's going to fly by faster than I will want it to. 

There will be a lot of lasts this coming school year. I hope that I can enjoy them and not just be maudlin and sad about them.

Most of all, I hope that Alex can enjoy them. This is a time like none other he will ever have in his life. I want him to enjoy it. I want him to learn. I want him to laugh. I want him to be happy. I want his heart to be touched. I want his sensitivities to increase. I want him to reach out to those who need a friend. I want him to have more fun than he ever imagined was possible. 

I have so many things I hope for him. I know I personally don't have a lot of control over all of it. I won't be directly involved in it. But as I watch, often from the sidelines, I will be cheering (sometimes on the inside so I don't embarrass the heck out of him). But I will be cheering. 

I could not be more proud of this boy. He is a light in my life. I love him with all my heart. This stage in motherhood is not easy for me. Sometimes I struggle with letting go. I struggle with the moodiness that Alex manifests sometimes. I have to remember that he is a cat.

Wait. What?

That's right. Children are like dogs. Teenagers are like cats. There is a wonderful essay that describes such a phenomenon. I will include it here:

"I just realized that while little children are dogs -- loyal and affectionate -- teenagers are cats. It's so easy to be a dog owner. You feed it, train it, boss it around. It puts its head on your knee and gazes at you as if you were a Rembrandt painting. It bounds indoors with enthusiasm when you call it.

Then around age 13, your adoring little puppy turns into a big old cat. When you tell him to come inside, he looks amazed, as if wondering who died and made you emperor.

Instead of dogging your footsteps, he disappears. You won't see him again until he gets hungry. Then, he pauses on his sprint through the kitchen, long enough to turn his nose up at whatever you're serving, swish his tail and give you an aggrieved look until you break out the tuna again.

When you reach out to ruffle his head, in that old affectionate gesture, he twists away from you, then gives you a blank stare, as if trying to remember where he has seen you before. 

You, not realizing that the dog is now a cat, think something must be desperately wrong with him. He seems so antisocial, so distant, sort of depressed. He won't go on family outings. Because you're the one who raised him, taught him to fetch and stay and sit on command, you assume that you did something wrong. Flooded with guilt and fear, you redouble your efforts to make your pet behave.

Only now you're dealing with a cat, so everything that worked before now produces the opposite of the desire result. Call him, and he runs away. Tell him to sit, and he jumps on the counter. The more you go toward him, wringing your hands, the more he moves away.

Instead of continuing to act like a dog owner, you must learn to behave like a cat owner. Put a dish of food near the door and let him come to you. But remember that a cat needs your help and your affection, too. Sit still, and he will come, seeking that warm, comforting lap he has not entirely forgotten. Be there to open the door for him.

One day, your grown-up child will walk into the kitchen, give you a big kiss and say, "You've been on your feet all day. Let me get those dishes for you."

Then you'll realize your cat is a dog again."

That essay rings so true with me. Its definitely not easy to live with a cat when you've grown accustomed to living with a dog. 

But, again, experience with my other kids tells me that Alex is gradually making that change back to adoring, lovable dog. Even though sometimes I think he wants to take his cat claws and scratch my eyes out, I know deep down he really does love me.

So for now, I will put on my seatbelt and hold on tight for the ride that will be Alex's senior year. 

I'm so excited for him and for the wonderful things ahead.

He's grown into an amazing young man. I'm lucky to be his mom.

Sure love my baby boy.

_M.E.