Fish Tacos and Cherry Pie

Fish tacos and cherry pie. That is what we ate for my son's 14th birthday tonight.

He smiled at me for the first time on July 20, 1999. Such a good baby. So happy. In spite of an illness (healed), near smoke inhalation (spared), a broken foot (healed), and falling down stairs twice (recovered once and caught another time), the baby and toddler years were filled with smiles and making us laugh.

Four made up for the terrible twos that never came. Preschool years were filled with trying to break a naughty streak without breaking a spirit. Standing at the top of the stairs yelling, "I'm gonna be nice now," and learning not to throw rocks at a sister (and other girls) were the norm. In between were trips to the cabin and the ocean, learning to fish and daddy being called up for another war.

Next came the elementary age when losing teeth and asking all sorts of questions were daily events.

"Will you ever get blind?" was one inquisition.

Another: "What if blood squirted out of my eyes?"

A black lab named Sally became a good friend. There was also best buddy Austin, just like a brother. And school and LEGOS and hating girls.

John was nine years old when we moved north. Heartbroken.

Since then five years have flown by amid school books and trying to find a niche. At first Jeff and I made great attempts at finding a passion for our son. Baseball, wrestling, Civil Air Patrol... Then, when we weren't paying attention, his feet landed on the ground kicking a soccer ball with a camera in one hand and The Hobbit in the other. Who knew? Growing up happens when we aren't looking.

I'll never forget sitting at the kitchen table one winter night in 2012 while John's dog was dying. She wasn't quite six years old. Boy did we cry. We still see some of her puppies. We still miss her. Life can really hurt sometimes.

Less than a year ago we switched from homeschool to private school. A big change that proved to be a good change and I don't know who was more nervous. While John embraced new teachers and new friends, I remembered days at home with math lessons and writing poems and eating lunch in a boat.

Today John had to work. Mowing lawn and cutting weeds at the neighbor's house. Working on a birthday is a sure sign of growing up.

I read through the journal I've been keeping for him since I was pregnant. Last year he had fish tacos too, but not cherry pie. It was chocolate cake. I suppose some things will always stay the same, while other things change.

While my boy will grow and expand his world and someday go away to a place where I can't see him each morning, or hear him talking with his sister late into the night, one thing will remain the same. Always. He will always be my son. He will always belong to me first. And maybe he will always eat fish tacos on his birthday.