My kids. They are all grown up. Just the other day I asked my oldest son — who happens to be daddy to a two year-old — which stage has he enjoyed most, his son’s infancy, or, now? His response was a quick one,”Now”. I watch my grandson and I am reminded of many of the stages I witnessed in his daddy, Lance. I have to agree with my son. While infants are sweet, it is the older child that captivates. The crawler, and then the walker, and then the talker. Stages in which I can see real progress. An animated toddler is a source of entertainment. Ewan, my grandson, walks and runs throughout our house picking up the notepad and pencil to “write” a message. He lifts a favorite book out of its storage place and I drop everything so that I can regale him with the story. He pokes his finger into the space between the bars of my parakeet’s cage. I have to issue a stern, “No”, and Ewan is sent to another room, away from his killjoy Nana. He sits motionless while enjoying a musical children’s video on his mom’s iPad. And, he slips his feet into the pair of tap shoes that he has learned are his.
Right about here is where the story takes on another leap. I love my adult children. I love them to a level reserved strictly for grown ups — this is the level that actually brings the greatest satisfaction. They can drive themselves wherever they need to go. Trevor, my youngest son, has driven himself up from L.A. on a number of occasions. He arrives five hours after he has left his home and I am not sure if that is a reflection of his speeding…with adulthood comes wisdom. They cook & they feed themselves. I so enjoy sitting down to one of their favorite movies, discussing the actors and picking apart our favorite scenes. They can take me to the airport. And, they can present me with flowers and chocolates for my birthday. Things an infant can not manage.
I am thankful. Collectively, we have made it this far. All grown up.