At age 16 you will…

marcel 16

It requires a still image for me to see it. The stare of an adolescent boy stunning me into my place. A young man issuing a challenge, a what if, an I so know more than you do mother look.

In that moment, my five year old is totally eclipsed by the body, will, and determination of a larger than your so called life-independently in the making young man. Making a choice, a mistake, making a move in his own direction.

When I see him in his sixteen-and-five body-still within the  malleable phase- I gasp and love on him a little more desperately than the day before.

I scoop five up.

I feel completely grounded in the heft of his body and his strong pendulum legs swinging on either side of the I-can-still-pick-you-up-when-you-are-sad mama pose.

I stroke five’s cheek as he sleeps.

I leave an “I love you SOOOOO much” note in his lunch box.

Then the piercing pain of the spoke of the Lego wheel under my bad heel and the playroom converts too instantly into the sanctuary of my empty nest.


So I have something to feel good about when he has left the house will you take 45 seconds to vote here for your favorite Portland blog? (It doesn’t have to be mine. But a vote for Justice in the Body, in the category atop of mine will make me just as happy.) Peachy. Thank you.

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