Ah 7th grade. Middle, middle school. Not top dog but not the babies anymore. Finally old enough to make fun of the younger kids. “Awww look at the widdle 6th graders! Aren’t they so cuh-yute!”
I think this year I’ve begun to understand why it is that parents can let go of their kids when they go off to college. Sometime in the past 12 months I’ve gone to sleep with an adoring and sweet child in the other room, and I’ve woken up to an all-knowing, all-wise being who wants to claw my eyes out, hug me, claw my eyes out, hug me, claw my eyes out and so on and so forth. I heard someone compare this to letting your friendly little puppy out to do its business one day. You fold some laundry, maybe eat some lunch. You go to the door to let her back in, only to find that her-royal-sweetness has turned into a cat; a cat that won’t come inside because YOU want her to, a cat that wants to sit in your lap until you stop giving it attention.
I'm not being 100% honest by acting like all this bothers me. Sometimes I get frustrated, but overall I enjoy seeing what each day will bring. Through them we add stories to our lifelong reserve that we'll eventually tell my grandchildren, future son-in-law, or random stranger in the teller line at the bank. It goes alongside the anecdotes about being scared of Santa, pronouncing frustrated without the first "r", and taking trolley rides at the pier. It all counts for something.