Birthday Boy All Grown Up

Today we’re celebrating our son’s 23rd birthday. Spencer is all grown up–our dreams for him come true–and now he’s making his own dreams come true. He is married to a beautiful wife who shares his passion for music and production and fun, who spoiled him real good for his birthday. I love that girl!  Who could wish for more?

Together Spenc & Taylor have amazing friends that will celebrate him all day and all weekend long. Theirs is a good story, not because they have a glittering life, but because they have one another. And they have all of us.

Nothing makes a mom happier than to know her grown up children are leaning their heads toward one another, like they always did, being silly, and making intentional effort to stay in touch, and by the time I woke up this morning to wish Spenc his happy birthday, he and his sis had already shared time via WhatsApp (awesome for international calls!) between where he lives in Cinci, and she in Seoul.

Spenc and I got to hang out on the phone while he ate his b-day breakfast of gooey French toast for himm and fresh brewed coffee for me. We laughed and shared life and he texted photos of his awesome gifts from his wife and other funnies. I told him that his b-day card and gift from his dad and I will be late because I didn’t count the days right. He’s totally chill about such things. Still. I wish we could deliver the gift–not much at all, merely a token and not enough to express our love–but he’s there and we’re here.

I am so, so happy on this day, twenty-three years after that day when a beautiful little guy slid into the world and became ours for a few years. My mind flips through photo albums of this adventurous little boy, so witty and fun across the years. But while talking to my son, I keep all the sappy mom reflections to myself.

This is the plan. Right?

“A son shall leave his father and mother…”

After several stalls, we said our goodbyes and hung up.

And I cried my eyes out. How can this be the plan? I look at baby and little boy photos and lose an hour in this liminal space we call transition; this in between, this threshold to the new and unknown. This now.

This is how we celebrate–the ongoing lesson of relinquishing and moving toward, and stepping back, and pulling in. This breaking and daring to open one’s heart again? This is the plan, I guess.