I walked out the door to the garage this afternoon to run an errand. I found Brandon in the driveway playing basketball with Eric; a likable kid from our neighborhood he's been hanging out with for years. I gave a friendly greeting and went to get in the van. As I was pulling out I saw Eric hopping in a red jeep that was blocking me in. I hadn't been able to see it from the garage.
"Sorry" he yelled as he backed out of my way.
I stopped. Frozen in something like shock. It took me a moment to continue my commute out into the street.
That's his jeep. He drove here. My son's friend. He drove his own car to our house, and now he's moving it out of my way, all nonchalant like its NO BIG DEAL.
Phrases like, "Eric, will you move your car?" are going to become part of my everyday vernacular.
It's amazing how I could know something was coming. This new phase. The next step. I even knew that it had arrived; The Man and I had talked about it. Yet somehow, actually seeing it still knocked the wind out of me, like a punch in the gut.
My son's friends are driving.
I think I need a drink. No better yet, I think I need to pray. A lot. For like the next five years straight.
I am so not ready for this.
What I am grateful for: A lazy day. A clean kitchen. Taking my daughter and my niece to a charmingly gooey girly movie and loving it. All of us.