I love you, now get out

My son turns 18 today.  EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD.

What the F*&%?

Like seriously, what happened?  Ya ya, time flies and all that, but the real problem is…

I AM NOT GETTING THAT OLD.

I seriously remember, like it was kinda yesterday, sleeping with my son on my chest about a week after his birth….and almost burning the house down….cause I was boiling his bottle nipples and I fell asleep (does anyone even do this anymore??).  I had to throw out the entire pan of burnt black goup and scrounge around for money (like literally) to buy more nipples.  Oh… and air out the house while dismantling the fire alarms.  Look…I was TIRED, dumb AND poor.

It also seemed like yesterday that I would SCOUR the movie (VHS people!) aisles for CHEAP but LONG sesame street videos.  I had ONE shot a day with this CRAZY-ASS-HYPER-PSYCHO child (that would literally bounce off the walls), to get him to sit down and watch his favorite show- Sesame street.  However…once the show ended, that was it.  No matter how fast I would scramble to get a second movie started (VHS’s were NOT fast), he was done.  Hence having to find the LONGEST ones out there.  Which were usually 19 minutes.  19 freaking minutes of peace a day.  A. Day.

It really does seem like yesterday that I would get WEEKLY calls from his teachers.  Weekly.  To meet.  To discuss my son’s behavior.  Cause you see, my son was “so lovable…however he is very distracting to others..”.  Ya…that is because he was a CRAZY-ASS-HYPER-PSYCHO child.  He was the kid that had his desk next to the teacher’s desk.  EVERY YEAR.  From kindergarten until fifth grade.  No email back then.  Phone calls.  Weekly.

**Special note; if you know my son now you would NEVER guess he was this CRAZY-ASS-HYPER-PSYCHO child.  He is SUPER quiet and laid back (about everything) now.  Of course…now that he can wipe his own ass and make his own meals…WHY DOES GOD TORTURE ME SO?**

I bet he feels like it was yesterday that I broke a wooden spoon on his ass.  Ya ya, call CPS, whatever.  He came home from hanging out with friends, and his cousin ratted him out that he smacked a girl on the bum.  WHAT DID YOU SAY?  Oh-no-he-didn’t.   Poor kid never saw it coming (not sure how as I am sure my mega stomping feet up the stairs and my loud as hell screaming coulda gave it away), but his date with the wooden spoon helped remind him how he should treat girls, unless he wanted his ass beat again….

The truth is, he is a pretty great kid.  Usually.  And I don’t take any credit for it.  I truly am not sure how he is alive today.  I was a kid myself when I had him, and I kinda grew up with him.  I did a piss poor job in a lot of ways in the parenting nightmare.  My saving grace is GOD, and the only thing I tried really, really hard to instill in him;

You get back what you give in life son, so give it everything you want: honesty, hard work, integrity and love. 

That’s it.  That’s all I got.  I now hope he becomes a positive contribution to society.  If not….. I have plenty of wooden spoons.

All through his childhood years I had people tell me to treasure that time, that it goes fast, that I will wish it back.

It did go fast.

Not sure I did a good job of treasuring it-as I was trying like hell to survive it.

I DO NOT WANT IT BACK.  Not today, not tomorrow, not ten years from now.

I love my son, with all my heart.  But he is 18.  I am done.

Now get out.

Cheers!

PS- ya, ya, ya- a mother’s job is never done.  What-ever.