When I was younger, I just knew I was going to be the mom of girls. I was going to have blonde haired, blue eyed cherubs with smocked dresses and bows bigger than their heads. I would buy them Madame Alexander dolls when they were young and then take them to get their ears pierced on their eleventh birthday (and not a moment sooner). We would hit the Clinique counter for makeup lessons and then take mother/daughter trips together before they went off to college. I had it all planned out. Never did it cross my mind that I would ever have boys. Having only a sister, I knew nothing of that species.
Sumter was in seventh grade in 2011. And even without the tragedy that affected our family that fall, he was pretty awful. Stinky and gross awful. Sarcastic and argumentative awful. And when I mean awful, I mean "ship him off to a deserted island until he was twenty-five" awful. Now don't shake your head at me and think judgemental thoughts about me - because you've had the same fantasies about your kiddos too. And if you haven't, it's only because you lived on Xanax and Vicodin cocktails for the majority of their childhood.
Anyway, back to Sumter.
Three years have passed. And I have to say I love fifteen. I love the maturity that has bloomed and the take charge attitude that has evolved. I love the conversations that we have - adult conversations. I love the fact that when just the two of us are out, he looks out for and takes care of his mama. I love that we have the same warped sense of humor and I can now share a perhaps a little inappropriate joke with him and he gets it. (Is that really all that bad?!) I love that he has opinions about important issues - even if I may not completely agree with him. I love that he gets on to his younger brother for being sassy to me. (Well, maybe I don't love that because it turns into a big argument.) I love that he's more focused on school and thinking about his future. I love that he is no longer in his skateboarder phase and likes more preppy (albeit more expensive $$$) clothing. I love that his faith is so strong that not being able to attend his Young Life Bible Study can be used as a consequence for not fulfilling family or school obligations. I love that he texts me "I love you Mom" for no reason. I just love lots of things.
And can you guess what grade Jackson is in? Yep, he's in seventh grade. Perhaps I'll write about him in three years... after my Xanax and Vicodin cocktails.