Actually, he’s not. I wanted him to be a Jr. His dad, however, is a Junior, so he would have had to have been the Third. That was vetoed. Instead he has a name that is his, (and other than the other 37 kajillion men with his name), his alone.

My baby started eleventh grade today. Y’know, the baby? The one that decided to be born a week early when no one was ready for him. The one that slept through the night when he was 10 weeks old. The one who started talked (and has yet to stop) when he was two.

I never knew what it felt like to be willing to die for another person. (Of course, this doesn’t mean I never want to kill him, because, y’know? He’s 15.) Trying to protect your children from everything and anything that can happen to them is an exercise in frustration and futility, but y’know? You keep on doing it. You keep trying.

I dropped him off and realized that this is the second to last time I’ll ever take him to “First Day of School”. And then, as I drove off, the tears started because, y’know? Next year? He’ll drive himself.

It seems fitting that today is Perfect Post Day. And because Helen wrote this post, that took me back to when I was sending my little boy off to Kindergarten, and 1st grade, and 2nd grade… and every first day since then, I award her the perfect post for August. And thanks to Lindsay and Momma K for offering (and you, too, if you want…go look) to present this to her.

—- Thanks Helen. For keeping me in tears all week long. I owe you. Big Time. —-