My youngest child turned ten yesterday, and for some reason double digits feels very old.
Certainly, the fact that my oldest child was recently married plays into my feelings. My second born technically lives at home, though evidence of that is only readily available through dirty dishes and text messages begging me to switch her laundry.
My third born is only 15 but looks like an actual man.
It's all so weird.
Our family tradition on birthday mornings has always been donuts. I would leave the house at the crack of dawn to buy fresh ones and quietly wake everyone but the person of honor. We'd go into the birthday gal/guy's room and wake them with candle-adorned donuts while singing the Happy Birthday song.
Birthday's aren't an area I'm gifted in, particularly the pre-planning part. This little tradition felt thrown together in the early years. By our oldest kid's 8th birthday, though, it was a thing.
Things are different now, though. It's not the same as when we had a houseful of little kids to celebrate one another's special day. Warm, pajama-clad bodies fighting for the right to light the candles while we *quietly try to wake the birthday sleeper - that was a party!
Really there are just fewer people in the house. (There's still a houseful though, so we're not lonely.) I was feeling pressured to get the things needed for the birthday gathering, and everything prepped for my co-op classes, and forgot the donuts.
Sitting in the Kroger parking lot contemplating how to move forward with my life I couldn't help but be a little verklempt. Just as I had settled on taking a nap, Laurel (second born) texted and asked if I would like her to go and get Liam's birthday donuts.
The sweetness of the gesture took me totally by surprise, but also not. This girl, like all her siblings, adores her youngest brother. I knew from the minute that we brought Liam home from the hospital that this baby was not mine and Lee's, he was ours.
Siblings that have the spread my kids do don't always get along, and I accept that. But Lee and I have put a huge amount of effort into ensuring that our kids have relationships with one another that matter.
In fact, we overlooked how off-kilter Liam would be as his older sisters and brother moved into adulthood.
One day last summer he said to me, "I miss them so much that I try and pretend that they don't exist. That way it doesn't hurt as much."
Oh boy.
He was not being melodramatic, either. Liam is mostly pragmatic about feelings (unless video games are involved). I shared with Kiley, Laurel and Spencer that he was a bit bereft without them.
So they showed up.
He got phone calls, surprise lunches out, a couple of trips to the movie, and an invitation to hang out at Kiley's house. Spencer began taking him on bike rides to the Dollar Store and mentoring him in the art of Clash Royale. They ensured that he felt connected to them even while they continued to move forward in their new lives away from our family.
Laurel's text caught me off guard because I don't put those expectations on them. She just did it because her younger brother's 10th birthday was important to her. It is amazing to see the work pay off.
Lee took Laurel and Liam to a hash brown breakfast early yesterday morning. The alliteration was not lost on us. They were back by 8 a.m. so that we could get to co-op for the day. It all felt very grown up.
Spencer reminded me to stop for a few lunch items at Kroger, plus he wanted to surprise Liam with donuts in the car. Kiley called to Facetime with Liam while I was pumping gas. Again, all very grown up.
I listened as Liam chatted with his big sis. "Mom cried because I'm ten."
"Yeah, she doesn't like us getting older."
And that is true, to an extent. Although, keeping them trapped forever young (insert Rod Stewart singing) has never been my goal. My tears were more akin to accepting an Oscar.
Watching people receive their trophy can flood me with emotion. Yesterday, on the Tenth Anniversary of Giving Birth to My Last Child, I understood the way some people simply cannot hold it together while up that stage. They've worked so damn hard at this one thing for so long that they never even imagined the outcome could feel so good.
I'm not even embarrassed to say that my kids are my life's work. Becoming an expert in parenting choices, educational styles, mental health, spiritual growth, and many other electives (hello geology, entomology, knitting, cake decorating, piano playing, knife throwing, Minecraft, YouTube...et al.).
Yesterday was sort of like my Oscar. Except for parents' Oscars are given backstage while our kid is just living their best life.
As it should be, really.
This morning I'm still reveling in the afterglow of my imaginary reward. There is no shiny object to sit on my mantle, no press waiting to take my photograph.
Instead, I just feel the fullness right in the center of my chest. That feeling comes from knowing that, among all of my mistakes, my children will remember to love each other well, no matter what.
Better than any Oscar, any day.
Be brave misfits, and may you love each other well.
