My son turned 23 this month. I was 23 when I had him. It seems like a long time ago. I know it happened, that he was little and he loved playing in the backyard. That we ate macaroni and cheese for dinner, always had lots of good afterschool snacks in the pantry, art supplies in the art cabinet and toys in the basement. There was lots of hockey, school projects, special New Year's celebrations and "You pick dinner" nights. He and his little sister never fought over who sat in the front seat. There were daily visits to YiaYia Mary's house and more teenage growing pains then I care to write about.
While none of that seems too exciting or sexy to the untrained eye, it absolutely was. Those macaroni and cheese moments are the moments that come to mind when I recall the past 23 years of his childhood.
I made many mistakes parenting him. Too many to list. I tried my best.
I had only a few important rules in my house. Ones that I rarely deviated from and frankly, they had nothing to do with getting straight A's or winning a first place trophy. What was important to me as a mother was to make sure that my kids learned how to find the magic in the mundane. I wanted them to know that a good life is the totality of the little things and not a road to an imaginary apex.
Life can get robotic and scheduled so the importance of adding periods, exclamation points, commas and transitions to our everyday rituals transformed the forgettable prose of his childhood into sensorial experiences and lasting memories. They were little things.
For an overworked, distracted parent, it may seem tough to get there after a hard day, but all it took is a deep breath and some childlike abandon. The mundane became marvelous. No budget necessary.
A typical Wednesday night pizza dinner will turn into a mandatory, pre-pepperoni, operatic, singing extravaganza with Luciano Pavarotti blaring in the background.
We had the "Full Circle Rule." For every conflict, there would be full resolution so the kids could learn the value of hearing and being heard and so they understood the soul cleansing power of forgiving and be forgiven. This act helped prevent the plaque of resentments that accumulate in childhood.
I tried to make sure that we didn't take things for granted. That we appreciated it. I wanted them to look back upon their childhood with minimal regret. It saves on the therapy bills later in life.
As the kids grew older, I got the eye rolls, but I powered through in spite. It ended up being the Wednesday night pizza operas and traditions from whimsy that rooted and secured us to each other during the tough times.
I used to tell the kids that that they were the keepers of the memories and they took this job very seriously. They realized early on that one day, they would be the story tellers and I think it made them closer. They are already very close, but it gave their relationship a different purpose.
Thank goodness we didn't have devices for most of it or we'd have been too busy trying to Facebook about the little things to actually commit all senses to experiencing them.
I would so much like to go back in time for just one day, to read him a story in his car bed or to have that sweet little boy automatically grab my hand when we would take a walk, but I am thrilled to spend time with the man he is turning into. He is taking the memories and lessons of where he came from to where he is going. I witness the great adult he is and how hard he tries at getting this whole life thing right. It's hard to do that sometimes.
He too appreciates the simple little memories that make up a life and a family and he is not too prideful to approach me for a full circle moment after a squabble. He can also take a mundane experience and find something truly wondrous about it to the delight of others around him and one day to the delight of his own children.
I don't care to worry about what the future holds because worry will only take away from the happiness of today, where I can relish in the magic of a 23rd birthday and say I am so proud of my son.