Bye-bye, Baby

Fall 2008

 

I delivered my baby to college this fall.

Oh, I know he doesn’t think of himself as a baby. I don’t either. But he is my youngest, so this marks a major turning point for our family.

We have lived around the children’s needs for 21 years.

Vacations? We scheduled them when school was out, and went to places the kids would enjoy.

Food? Whatever would nourish the kids and actually make it into their bodies.

Work schedules? Find that balance between enough income to pay the bills and enough at-home time to care for the kids.

Homebuying? A neighborhood with sidewalks and quiet streets, near good schools.

Cars? Something sensible and durable, with room in back for two car seats, and decent enough mileage that we could afford to drive it.

Outdoor activities? Anything that would soak up a lot of youthful energy but not require sustained attention to tedium. Hiking and tennis worked; running and gardening, not so much.

No longer will my husband and I have to listen to our two boys fighting and calling each other names. Where on Earth did they pick up all those words, anyway?

No. 1 Son remains home, working part time, freelancing as a musician, crossing paths with us in times of hunger and dirty clothes.

And I’m suddenly remembering and longing for those days filled with my two little boys, their constant needs and their endless delights. Their discoveries of backyard bugs, or pink clouds, or sturdy tree limbs.

I remember when Hurricane Fran hit, shortly after we moved to Raleigh. While my husband was at work, the boys and I – how old were they then? 9 and 6? – the three of us cut branches off our fallen trees and hauled them out to the curb. It occupied us for days.

No. 2 Son was, of course, his big brother’s biggest fan when they were very young. I remember No. 1 Son calling out for me to please come play pretend with him; his little brother immediately offered: “I’ll pretend with you!” He didn’t actually like pretending, but he would do anything to please his brother. And there was the time (I could go on and on with these stories) when No. 1 Son scraped his knee playing at a friend’s house; No. 2 son insisted on getting a Band-aid too, so he could be just like his brother. I remember the many times he cried with outrage and hurt: “He hit me for no reason!” It wasn’t the physical pain of the slaps that troubled him, but the injustice and betrayal of his idol hurting him unprovoked.

Their relationship changed as they got older. They fought, sometimes fiercely. There was a stretch of several years when I dreaded any holiday weekend, because I knew it would mean three full days of pulling them apart from each other and commanding: “Stop it! Stop it!”

Eventually, that phase faded out too. They had one glorious year together in high school, when No. 2 Son was a freshman and No. 1 Son was a senior with a car and a parking permit. (It was pretty glorious for me, as well – a year without carpool. Yahoo!) They found new things in common. Girls. Video games. Homework excuses. They began speaking to each other in a kind of teenage code that my husband and I could not crack. They found new ways to harass each other, too.

“Why don’t you get a job, lazy butt?”

“Why don’t you go to college, moron?”

I’m paraphrasing a bit here. This website would not be an appropriate place to repeat what they really called each other.

I won’t miss the arguing and the foul language. But I will miss No. 2 Son. He’s been a huge help since he got his driver’s license a couple years ago, doing the grocery shopping and planning dinner several days a week. He’s a natural at that: He’s been cooking with his dad since he was old enough to stand on a chair and reach the counter. I wrote a poem a few years ago about my little kitchen aide.

 

Vinaigrette

 

Perched on a kitchen chair, he says,

“Yes, Mom, I washed my hands.”

Balsamic vinegar, soy sauce, mustard, maple syrup,

Olive and sesame oils, minced garlic.

Mushrooms and onions, sliced with a knife as long as his arm.

 

Tangy,

             salty,

                          sharp,

                                       sweet,

                                                    soothing,

                                                                 spicy,

                                                                              dangerous.

 

Finished, it’s a wonder,

the gently acid taste of growing up.