I Left my Heart in San . . . No, in Anchorage and Rhododendron

I have recently learned something about myself. I am not ready for my children to be adults. I know that I don't have any choice. I know that they are turning into fabulous human beings that I am proud of. I know that growing up is inevitable. I know that I LOVE these grown up people they have become. But since growing up also seems to mean GOING AWAY, I am voting against aging.

Today we took Caspian to Rhododendron, Oregon to a 55-acre farm that is having young people from all over the country come out to help them with building yurts, landscaping gardens, clearing forest and lots of other major outdoor projects. He took his tent, sleeping bag, suitcase, and iPod. We got there and got the tour and it is a beautiful place indeed. Huge mountains surround the area, covered in blankets of pine trees. The team will spend the summer turning rough country into a future resort/retreat and the work will be HARD and physical and exhausting--and I suspect he will absolutely love it. That will come. . . today he was just understandably overwhelmed at the barrage of information they were giving him.

I followed him on the tour, taking pictures, oohing and aahing over the scenery, nodding politely at the details of their projects and at the same time wondering just why the HELL these people expected my little boy to be able to do any of this stuff. Then I looked at this big 18 yr old man in front of me and realized that I was the only one seeing that little boy standing there. Everyone else saw this muscled young man and I saw this tiny, tow headed prankster.

When it came time to say goodbye, I found myself fighting the same tears I just went through with Nicole a month ago. How can you be SO happy and excited for someone and so heart broken at the same time?!? How can you want to admire their stepping out into the world, while you really want to super glue them to their rooms? I've never felt such ambivalence in my life as saying goodbye to my children.

I will cope. I will adjust. I will cry less. I will keep busy. I will buck up and be a . . . . mom. But I've already warned Coryn that if he even mentions going anywhere, I will have to hurt him. He does not look frightened. Sigh.

I am sure any day he will say, Hey mom . . . . can I go . . . . and I will say, of course and help him pay the bill, pack the bags, make the plans and walk out the door.

Then you can just stop by and see me curled up on the couch, crying and wondering just what the hell I am supposed to do with myself without these people in my house to pester me and remind me that they are hungry AGAIN.

Bring chocolate.