My sleep has been fraught with dreams and turmoil. I wasn't sure of the cause, but yesterday I realized the the visage ruining my nights is my 14 year old son. My beautiful, sweet, dreamboat son who has become a full blown teenager. My boy who loves to be out and about and laughs and whose phone is incessantly ringing.
I'm more than happy that both of my boys are well adjusted, well liked, well acclimated to their American lives. We live in a gorgeous county with clean air, zero pollution, every sport under the sun and wildlife roaming the streets. We broke (and continue to break) our backs to stay in this school district, which offers both my middle schooler and high schooler the best that any public school could offer. We could not have done any better.
But the fact remains that my son is a blossoming teen. And the real root of the problem here is that I remember, I so well remember, when I was that age. The maze that I navigated without even knowing it. The hurdles and pitfalls and drama. I now know that once your child reaches fourteen, you can only hope that you have somehow instilled judgement and character and values into your child. Along with a healthy dose of luck.
My son is asleep downstairs in his room with a friend. A friend who actually drives a car. I am awake and working, but with a clock ticking in my mind counting down the days left of my children's spring break. A clock ticking down the remainder of the weeks to the end of school year, when my husband is packing my children in the car to drive them across the USA to Florida where he is rebuilding a lakeside cabin for my father. At least there I know they cannot get into too much trouble. Or who am I kidding?
Sometimes I think that I may not truly rest until my boys reach 30. The only problem is that then I will be old...