I once read that from the time a child is born until they graduate you’ll have nine hundred and forty weekends with them. Goodness, that seems like a low number to me. I mean, not even a thousand! And since my oldest is a sophomore I only have…good gravy, I only have one hundred and twenty four weekends left with him. What kind of foolishness is that? I demand a recount.
Y’all, I’m concerned. When he’s away I send him texts and get these one word answers for replies. And that would be okay if we didn’t chat much when he was home but we do. So I go from feeling connected to him to completely off the grid.
Ahem, kid, that isn’t going to be enough when you go off to college. Like, it’s just not. I’m going to need more than one word answers.
He’s in New York right now with Billy.
Here’s an example of his loquacious texting capabilities.
I mean, I’m not asking for a dissertation on War and Peace but throw me a bone, child.
Last night Billy wasn’t feeling well so he went to the hotel room and crashed. James just wandered off into the city by himself. Every hour or so I’d check his location.
Now he’s in the Village…now he’s at Central Park…now he’s in Times Square…
And eventually that’ll stop. I won’t be checking his location when he’s in college. They’ll come a time when I check it for the last time and I won’t even know that it was the last time.
Sheesh, one hundred and twenty four weekends left.
Now he’s walking…now he’s in school…now we have one hundred and twenty four weekends left.
Doesn’t it go by in a blink.