His bed is made. The closet doors are even shut. All the pets have food and water. The sink is empty of dishes. The dishwasher not full enough to run. The armoire doors won’t be open in the morning when I go out to the living room. The refrigerator will have exactly the same amount of food in it that it does right now and nothing will go missing from any of the cabinets.

The bathroom won’t smell like men’s body wash tomorrow when I get in. There will constantly be toilet paper on the roll and no wet towels will be sloppily thrown over the shower rod. I’ll have to remember to get the mail tomorrow, and to walk the dog more often than usual. I won’t have to ask whose phone just beeped, it’ll always be mine.

I’ll see him again briefly this time next week. Long enough to do laundry, repack and drive him to Ohio to meet the other grandparents. But then he’ll really be gone. And while I really thought today, when I watched him board the plane, I really thought that this time, I would feel a sense of relief. A reprieve. A bit of the stress of trying to raise a teenage boy gone for just a bit. But I didn’t. I turned and walked back to my car with tears.

He’s growing up too fast, this boy of mine. Taller than me and already shaving, he’s not my little one any longer. And now, as I reluctantly go to bed, not wanting to face the silence in the space where we usually chatter for a bit from room to room in the dark, what I will miss most is the sincerity in his voice when he goes to bed, passing by my room he always says, “love ya, Mom.”

I know he’ll have a great time. I know he’s surrounded by love and joy. I know he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. I’m just so not ready for him to grow up.

The years have gone by in a blink. Faster than that, even. I don’t know how he’s changed so fast, or how we’ve come this far so soon. The years fly by.

The summer never does.

I miss you already, Flash.

Things to do today:

1. Get medical release notarized.
2. Get Flash a haircut.
3. Get swim goggles, sunscreen and strap on sandals.
4. Go to the library to pick up a read aloud book for Summer School on Monday.
5. Write up a few writing prompts for this week’s summer school lessons.
6. Do Flash’s laundry.
7. Double check Flash’s packing to make sure it includes swim trunks, toothbrush and the sunscreen we just bought.
8. Get boarding pass, copies of important documents and his id’s all in one secure location in his luggage.
9. Give Flash a little spending money and remind him it’s not to be spent on itunes.
10. Celebrate/mourn Flash’s departure for the summer with one last pizza and movie night.

It’s always with mixed emotion that I send Flash away for his summer. I know he will be loved and safe everywhere his journey takes him, but I know I will miss him, too. I’m excited about his summer plans; a week in TN, time in Pittsburgh with grandparents, a week at missions camp with his church youth group and then off to see his dad for several weeks in Philly before he flies back home at the very end of August. We will celebrate his return home then as well, and kick off the school year – his last as a middle schooler – but for now, we’ll do these last minute preparations and I’ll pray that he is spiritually ready, that his manners are ingrained, that his intentions are good and grounded and that his attitude is one of joy and cooperation. And tomorrow I will send him off.

Sigh. Our last day. We’d better get started!

Flash has had some issues in the past few months. Mainly a lack of tenacity to see a job through to completion, and a lack of a good work ethic. He has little desire to actually do a job well. The computer has been the main culprit, as he’d like to watch Netflix while he cooks dinner (causing many issues). And he’d rather be on the computer than edit his journals for gifted class, etc. So I added some parental controls on his computer until he can demonstrate in various ways that he can actually put his whole self into doing a good job, and he could see it through until the end. Flash has a week until he leaves for the summer and is trying to earn his full computer privileges back before he leaves. Nothing like a deadline to help motivate. But he still only tries in spurts to earn it back. About the time his computer boots him off for the night he is reminded that he should have demonstrated hard work and thoroughness to earn it back.

He’s recently taken on cleaning the car. I thought it was a good way to show hard work and thoroughness. Only he got it half done and quit. Until he just remembered his computer is about to boot him off again and won’t let him on again tomorrow until after 3. So, here it is, Sunday night and Flash is out “finishing” the job. (I have come to learn to use that term loosely.)

I’m in the house doing laundry and picking up the living room and I get an instant message from Flash. He’s no more than 10 yards out the front patio door, but I get an instant message. And I respond and we go back and forth a few times until I realize, he’s instant messaging me from the car. When I asked (through messenger) just why he took his computer with him to clean the car, he said, “because it has music on it my ipod doesn’t.”

Seems to me when we used to wash the car, we just took the ol’ boom box out in the drive and played the radio. Now you apparently take your computer out, set it up in the back seat and play tunes. The bonus? You can still instant message through the wireless.

And he continues to wonder just why it is that he can’t seem to do a job thoroughly.

(Note #1: Flash’s latest IM – “Did you know you can erase super idelible bird poop with a pencil eraser?” Um, no.)

(Note #2: The neighbor just stopped by and told Flash he could do his car, too. Then commented that Flash had wireless out there and acted like that was just the most normal thing in the world. Of course this is the neighbor that allows his dog to torment Eli to no end. We don’t put much stock in the intelligence of this neighbor.)

(Note #3: I had a good chuckle yesterday when I was talking with my Dad about Flash’s visit next week. My dad was reminding me that they have plenty of computers there so Flash really doesn’t need to bring his. True, if only you had his itunes and all of his games. I’m not sure you want Flash for a week without his technology nearby. He starts to twitch after about an hour. Although if he doesn’t earn his privileges back, it might be a moot point.)

Today was the last day of school. My first last day in any real sort of teaching capacity and I found it to be hard. It was filled with hugs and “I’m going to miss you’s” and lots and lots of love for the little ones in my building. And while I will miss terribly some of the second graders moving on to the next building, and I am not ready for the summer spent without the kids I’ve grown used to seeing every day, it was the absence of Pam that really made the day difficult. She was there to set up her class and to just barely get it started when she had to leave us all. And today I waved goodbye in the pouring rain to kids that might not even remember the five short days she spent as their first grade teacher.

Today was also a first. A dinner out with a new friend. A dinner that has been scheduled and canceled and rescheduled and postphoned and tonight, finally happened! And it was really wonderful. Full of good natured laughter and stories. Full of talk on every topic and while we are only just beginning a friendship, a feeling that we’ve known each other a very long time. It was a wonderful evening. One that we’re already scheduling to repeat very soon.

Tomorrow I will be back to school. This time gearing up for summer school. I’ll be busy with that and watching a hand full of kids this summer, including trips to the library, the park, the playground. I can’t think of a better way to earn a buck.

If I’m not back to blog anytime soon, don’t worry. I’m just out enjoying relationships in person this summer and not just over the internet. Sooner or later, however, something is bound to come up that is blog-worthy and I’ll be sure to note it here.

In the meantime, I wish you all the bittersweet joy that comes when you know school is out for the summer. And all the bliss that comes from spending time with people that make you laugh and make you feel loved.

Happy Summer!

And to top it off, out of Flash’s mouth came this gem tonight:

“Mom, if I wanted to be around people that were nice to me all the time, I wouldn’t be here.”

(Not exactly what he meant to say, but it seems to go with the day.)

Sixteen years ago yesterday, I was married on a beautiful Saturday morning outside the chapel on the grounds of the college we would graduate from the following day. The birds sang, my mother and the people we loved dearly were all present. It was an inexpensive, gorgeous moment.

Eight years ago today, the judge officially declared our marriage over. I had moved out many months before that and someone new, a very male someone new, had moved in with my ex not long after that. It wasn’t quite how I had envisioned things turning out, but it’s how the story goes.

Tomorrow then marks the day I will start being divorced longer than I was married. It’s like when you notice you’ve been driving for longer than you haven’t. Or that you’ve had your married name for longer than your maiden. It’s not really of significance other than being a reflecting point.

How do I feel about all these days bundled up together? Contemplative. But more importantly: forgiven.

And to celebrate that forgiveness, to realize the lessons I learned through some painful processes, to give recognition to God that while He does not bring turmoil into my life, He will use it to bring me closer to Him, I do believe I will celebrate this evening by dancing.

I thought my marriage would last forever. I thought I would never have a gay ex-husband. I thought I would have a few more children. I thought, even after my divorce that I would remarry within a few short years. I thought that by now I’d have someone to go dancing with me. But God’s plan has certainly brought me much closer to Him. And I look forward to His plan for me in my future!

I realize Sex Ed can be intimidating for most parents. We worry that our children are going to learn too much, or hear things their innocent hearts shouldn’t even think of yet. But once you’ve had to explain to your son the logistics of his father’s gay partnership, everything else is cake. Or so I thought.

Over dinner tonight, Flash was venting yet again about how ridiculous he considers these classes to be. “Mom, here’s what I don’t get. Some kid actually asked out loud, ‘What is oral sex exactly?’ I mean, DUH, does it get any more obvious than that? He even followed that one up by asking the teacher to clarify what ‘anal sex’ was! Can you believe it? I mean, are they really just that stupid?”

I’m sure I had a deer-in-the-headlights look as I calculated just exactly how old I when I first learned what those two things were.

But if you’ll pardon me for just a moment, I think I’ll go stick a pillow over my head and scream at the thought that my 13 year old is that casually aware of these things already. I’m too scared to even ask how he knows these things. I’m praying it was just some really thorough sex ed classes last year. Something I never thought I would wish for. (He actually justified his knowledge as just being “the logical explanation” for the word. I’m going to go with that.)

We don’t get along well since we broke up, TB and I. Maybe that’s not quite an accurate statement; TB is angry with me because I don’t want to remain friends. He doesn’t mean me harm, I am certain, he’s just hurting and I am the source of some of that pain. But I have been through far too much of TB’s drama in the past several months to even care about any of it any longer. Drawn in too many times to defend, to care, to argue, to respond, I’ve found my words twisted, turned, spit upon and thrown back at me. I’m worse than angry, I’ve become apathetic.

But I have to say how grateful I am for one small gift that perhaps he wishes he didn’t give to me, or perhaps he wishes would do more than just warm my heart, but whatever the spirit, I appreciate it regardless.

Every other week, when TB has The Rentals, they come down to my pew in the sanctuary at church and say hello. They talk for just a moment and then they are back to their pew to sit with their dad, but it’s that small moment when I get to see them again for which I am so grateful.

I love those kids. TB knows I do. And the hardest thing about realizing how wrong my relationship with TB was is to realize that means I have no relationship left with The Rentals.

And while I cannot be friends with TB, and I understand that my relationship with the kids had to change dramatically, too, I am still grateful for one small little moment every other week when I get to hug them and tell them that I love them and to hear about their latest joys and sorrows.

I am careful. I don’t make promises I can’t keep or agree to things I’m not willing to do. I won’t go see him play ball and we aren’t all going to lunch after church, our relationship is now simple an exchange of hugs and loves at church, but they seem to understand that things have changed and they seem just fine with that. They don’t come to see me out of a sense of obligation, but they come with giggles and grins for just one extra dose of love.

And I give it freely.

And I remind myself of the 101 reasons why their father and I are not a good match, and why we cannot be friends, and why I believe God introduced us in the first place. And I say a prayer for all of them as I wipe a tear from my eye knowing that’s the only time I’ll see them for the next two weeks.

But for that moment, I am so grateful.

He emerges from his room now when his computer kicks him off at 9pm. Working on Shakespeare, he came out last night hungry, as usual. He sat with me in the living room for a few minutes before asking sheepishly if he might cook a frozen pizza.

I had to laugh. It would be nearly 10 before he would eat, but the boy is constantly hungry and a frozen pizza seemed to delight him at that hour. I agreed.

We sat and talked while the pizza cooked. As we laughed, I started to smell the pepperoni and sausage and finally asked my sheepish question back, “Might I have one piece of your pizza when it comes out?”

So over pizza and tall glasses of milk, we talked and laughed and mad fun of the dog and the cats.

And it was then that Flash said it. It came out as unpretentious as the whole evening had been. “I just realized I have something to add to my bucket list, Mom.”

“I didn’t know you had a bucket list, Flash.”

“Well, I do now, anyways. I think I just realized the first item that needs to be put on the list. Remind me later, Mom, to write it down.”

“No, Flash. Go get your journal now, and write it down now, before you forget. You can’t let these things slip through your fingers!”

So off he went to get his journal, returning to the living room and his abandonded pizza with a leather-bound book I had bought him a summer or two ago. One with not many pages filled in just yet, but still with love for knowing it was there when he needed it. Flash flipped to the back, to one of the last pages and began his Bucket List. I encouraged him to write the date next to the items as he adds them to his list.

In the back of Flash’s journal, item #1 on his “Things To Do Before I Die” list, it reads:

1. Have frozen pizza in the middle of the night with my child.

I said, “Hey, Flash? I think I just came up with a new one for my bucket list, too.”

“What’s that, Mom?”

Have frozen pizza in the middle of the night with my grandchild.

We both laughed and then talked about a competitive race to see who would get to cross the item off their list first.

As we continued to talk into the night, and shared other ideas of what might someday be included on our bucket lists, as I mentioned how I hope to travel to Ireland, he added #2 to his list, “Travel to England”. We think maybe we’ll try to make that a combined trip at some point.

But I love how much he treasures the soft, sweet moments spent with someone you hold dear just as much as I do. That it isn’t always about the big things, or the momentous occasions, but it’s about the small, quiet moments, where you share laughter and thoughts and fears that bring you closer.

If it hadn’t been on my bucket list already, I might have now added sharing frozen pizza in the middle of the night with my child. And next to it, I’d place a tear-stained check.

Yahoo is requiring some updates for account information. Flash started by entering an alternate email address. Then Yahoo asked him to answer two security questions so he might verify his account if every he forgot his password.

Question #1: “Where did you spend your honeymoon?”
Flash’s reply: “I’m 13.”

Question #2: “Where did you meet your spouse?”
Flash’s reply: “I’m 13.”

Question #3: “What is your youngest child’s nickname?”
Flash’s reply: “I’m 13.”

Question #4: “What is the first name of your oldest niece?”
Flash’s reply: “I’m 13.”

Question #5: “What is your oldest nephew’s first name?”
Flash’s reply: “I’m 13.”

Question #6: “What is the last name of the best man at your wedding?”
Flash’s reply: “I’m 13.”

Question #7: “What was the last name of the maid of honor at your wedding?”
Flash’s reply: “I’m 13.”

Question #8: “What was the make of your first car?”
Flash’s reply: “I’m 13.”

Question #9: “What was the make of your first motorcycle?”
Flash’s reply: “I’m 13.”

Question #10: “What was the last name of your first boss?
Flash’s reply: “Mom.”

Well, at least he can finally get past the security questions.