The end of the school year always brings with it a lot of last minute rap ups making us race through our activities and slide into the end with a huge sigh of relief. We made it through another year. Noodge 1 is finishing up the 8th grade and that has brought with it a few extra events. If you want to read about the class trip, you can here, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
The 8th grade dance is next up on the list. We bought Noodge 1 a new suit, which is a good thing because it meant the old one was too short. Height really doesn’t matter, and it won’t stop him from doing whatever he wants to with his life, but I feel guilty about passing on the “not going to be tall” gene. Here’s the bad thing about an Italian and Jew mating; you aren’t making children who will qualify for the NBA. Just saying.
The end of the 8th grade is bitter sweet. On the one hand, it’s time for him to move on to the next stage of life. I remember what it was like to be that age. In fact, I can’t believe I’m not that age any longer and somehow there is someone else in my house that is that age and sounds like my husband when he speaks. I even remember what I wore to the 8th grade dance, so how can I have an 8th grader, but I digress.
It’s time for him to move on from middle school, but that means he’s one step closer to leaving the house for good and I’m not ready for that. Time is winning the race and I’m trailing behind yelling, “wait for me!” Here’s the real kicker: there is no waiting for me. It’s not my race. It’s his and I’m just a spectator.
And we all know how good I am with giving up control.
So, what do I do? I certainly can’t stalk him at the dance. Can I?
I have to let him go, and not just to the dance, but I’m taking it one baby step at a time. Even if his steps are bigger than mine.
And then when he walks away so far it’s harder to watch him, I’m buying binoculars. Just saying.