As if it weren't obvious from my last few posts, I'm having a very hard time with the fact that my eldest is in middle school already. He's only eleven, but I can see so clearly that he is only a few years from gone, and it is just killing me. It isn't that I love him more than my other two children, really: I just love him a little differently because he was my first baby. My husband doesn't understand that, but perhaps somebody else reading this will.
At any rate, the universe is clearly trying to tell me something, since reminders that he is growing up are hitting me in the face left and right this week. Today, it was the friend who saw him for the first time in several months and commented to me that he is turning into a fine young man. He is, it's true, and it beats all the alternatives I can think of, but I (perhaps selfishly) have a hard time hearing it.
My gut said to grab him and run away, and kindly, Himself let me. We had a few free hours this afternoon, and since I so rarely have one-on-one time with him, we picked up a few caches together and then grabbed frozen yogurt on the way home. Nothing special, not even that many caches, just a quiet afternoon together. Me and my boy.