I should write a profound post today. You see, my younger child is graduating from high school today.
I could talk about how it was only yesterday — swear to bog — I called from the hospital to tell Robert he had a little brother and Robert wanted to know why we had Pixel-cat with us. That’s because for the first three months of his life, Marshall sounded just like the cat.
I could talk about the amazing signs of genius he showed as a toddler (doesn’t every mother have these stories?) or whatever the heck it was he mixed at three from household chemicals, which left a crater in our backyard at our last house. (Also a sign of genius, but the kind that, well, doesn’t end well. First thing I knew was the fountain of dirt at second floor height.)
We could talk about his special challenges, only he’d prefer me not to and I might be dependent on him in my old age.
We could talk about annus horriblis, aka sixth grade when we eventually had to bring him home to homeschool for a year. Or we could talk about what a joy that year was, and how if I could have found a tutor for math, I’d have continued doing it, because he’s so much fun to run along with in an intellectual race.
But it’s late, I’m tired, I was writing till late, then getting his clothes ready, because tonight he could misplace his own head. And tomorrow, after the ceremony, I’m finishing a story (which pretty much encapsulates the last seventeen years too.)
So, I’ll write another — better — blog post if I can find time halfway through tomorrow.
For now suffice it to say that I find it rather impossible that the YOUNGER kid is leaving high school, and that I’m SURE I’m nowhere near that old. Must be some time compression device or… something.
Congratulations to E. Marshall Hoyt and to the rest of you — catch you on the flip side.