Cracks of Separation

On my way home today, I looked at the Starbucks coupon for a free cold drink and wondered which child should get the drink: Tucker or Grace.
The idea of buying it for Spencer never crossed my mind. After his initial grounding this summer where he spent a constant week with parents, a week grounded then a week without his car, he has made the most of his freedom. He is rarely home until curfew.
In three months, Spencer will be 18 -- a legal adult.
He is, and always has been, my most social kid. He goes to basketball three days a week, lifting weights with his basketball buddies. He works two or three nights each week, and the rest of the time he is hanging out. Eating at fast food restaurants, cruising, and socializing at the football field take the rest of his time.
Still, it shocked me a little that I hadn't even considered that he might be home, that I could buy him a Starbucks treat. I decided to call him and, if he was home, I'd get him a Frappucino.
"Hey, Mom," he answered.
"Are you home?" I asked.
"No, I'm at Joe T's," he said. "Chillin'"
Ah. No Frappucino for him.
"I was thinking we need to touch base. Get together. Talk about college visits and stuff," I said. "Maybe we could have lunch sometime."
"Yeah, well I already ate but okay."
Well, it was three o'clock, so most people had already eaten lunch.
"I was thinking Friday," I said. "We'll go someplace with wireless so we can search for colleges online."
"Okay," he said.

So now I have a date with my middle child, my oldest son.
I don't expect to have his attention for long.
I know, unlike his sister who would happily have stayed home rather than venturing off to college, he is counting the months until he finishes high school and tries his sea legs on a college campus, eager to see what he can do in a bigger pond.
I still catch glimpses of that little boy though, the one who danced to Riverdance and cried at the Tigger movie because Tigger didn't have a real family.

The Trauma of Turning 18

It's official. My eldest child is now 18 -- an adult.
This is how fast it has gone: One minute she is a two week old with colic, crying and crying, inconsolable - the next she is a 5-foot, 10-inch young woman slicing through the water like an arrow, bobbing up with a smile.
She's been in tears for nearly a week now imagining the horror of this birthday and the responsibility of becoming an adult.
To her turning 18 means she has ended that blissful state of childhood. And I have to admit, Grace has taken advantage of childhood. She has squeezed every drop of imaginary play and kicking tantrum that she can from childhood. Even without the birthday numbers though, she became responsible and inched her way into adulthood before 18.
"I can be arrested now!" she bemoaned.
"Don't do anything illegal," Tucker advised.
"If I hit Tucker, it's illegal instead of just a brother and sister fighting," she cried.
Tucker and I listed all of the benefits of being 18. She can get a tattoo. She can get piercings. She could gauge her ears.
Of course, we're cracking up at the thought because Grace hates pain -- hates it and would never do any of those things.
"You can sign yourself out of school," I suggested. That one quieted her down a bit.
"Will they still call you?" she asked.
Having one child reach adulthood doesn't feel like the relief I might have imagined. It doesn't seem like the burden has left my shoulders. I haven't brushed off my hands and said, "That one finished."
I can't protect her forever, but I have brought her to this place, to this adult line and helped her cross over fairly intact. Now I'll have to watch while she inches forward trying to decide if she wants to try her wings.
Are you sure this is the same kid? Grace in the Luxembourg Gardens at 14 and then at 17 in her senior picture