I Wanna…Blog Some

Message to my friends with 6 year olds (or nearly 6):

Just over 6 years ago I had my last baby.  And right around that time I started meeting a lot of new people.  Many of those people had their first kid right around when I was having my last.  What I want you, my friends I met about 6 years ago, to think about is how fast the time goes.  Not by thinking about our 6 and nearly-6 year olds.  But think about this:  Remember when you met me and my wee one was actually a wee one?  Remember how she had a slightly older sister and a gargantuan-by-comparison big brother?  Well, that slightly older sister is getting ready to go into the 3rd grade!  And (I hope you are sitting) the gargantuan-by comparison big brother and he was around 6 when you met him…he is going into (really, sit) 7th grade!  Middle school! 

Now think about your own 6 (or nearly 6) year old.  Someday he or she (or they) will one day be going into middle school or be at that age of middle school (for you home/un-schoolers).  Someday you will start thinking about how few years it suddenly seems before your offspring will be springing off.  I’m over half way until legal moving (kicking) out age. 

I think a lot about the age 6 thing because that was hold on my friend V’s kid was when I met him.  And now he’s something like a junior in college (and V also has a 7 year old).  I think a lot about how this person I met was a little kid and now he’s this tall man who lives nearly on his own, with a girl friend, and some responsibilities, and was a little kid when I first met him.  And someday my own kids will be grown, with significant others (having s-e-x!), and responsibilities (especially if they are having s-e-x!). 

 So, parents of 6 and nearly 6 year olds, be scared and excited with me.  Our once wee-ones will one day be middle school age too.  And then college age.  I have proof. 

Thanks for everything you did for me.  You gave me stories to tell.  Most of them are sweet or funny, but some are twisted or tragic.

You gave me pretty good advice about how to pick up "gentleman callers."  You even helped me pick up a few.  Remember the time we went to Houlihan’s and you interviewed potential dance partners while I was dancing with others?  Or the time you taught me how to say, "I want your body," in Spanish because of that really good looking Venezuelan catcher? 

You became my best friend even after years of telling me that you loved me because you had to, but you didn’t always like me.  It’s amazing how close we became even after those high school years.  I guess for that you taught me how to forgive.  Or maybe just forget. 

I still carry the weight of you always worrying about my weight.  You tried to save me from your eating issues, but the way you did it gave me my own.  But you also showed me that self-acceptance was a goal worth working for.  You might have looked like a nana, but you were one hot nana who had your share of gentleman callers.

You gave me some of your crazy.  For that I’m not sure if I should thank you, but maybe someday my kids will.  Because my children will have stories.  Some sweet, some funny, and most definitely some twisted and tragic. 

Thank you, Mom, for everything you did for me.