My boy wrote this, and FB will someday throw it away.  I can't stand the thought of that.

"Friends, family, people I've known for years and who have been here with me through the good times and the bad... I don't really know how to tell you this, and I apologize in advance for any feelings of deception you may come to harbor against me, but I can no longer continue to live this lie. The truth is, I am a flying whale. For the past three years I have come to live a double-life, assuming a tiny, ground-bound (albeit handsome) alter-ego and repressing my true blubbery nature. During the lonely Pennsylvania nights, when the mundane insanity of the suburbs is just too much for me, I shed my human skin and take to the skys, soaring majestically over the rooftops of Downingtown, my passing shadow unheeded by the simple folk below. I soar, and the dew of clouds collects on my rostrum, the moonlight reflecting in silky waves off of my dorsal ridge. Only once I am gliding safely in the mesosphere do I feel safe in releasing the tensions of the day in the form of the mighty whalesong, the mournful tones reverberating in the cold night sky long after I have gone back to my house, and my humanity."

Cute

I was prepared for Teh Cute when you were a baby. I was delighted with the 4 and 6 year old cutes, but I am completely surprised but the teen cutes.

You are just so cute. You've finally got a working brain that doesn't require a pg rating, and I can share all my favorite shows and music and art and foods and it's all new to you. You reinvent the wheel thirty times a week, and when I see you do it I remember when I did it and it's Cute.

I've enjoyed all 16+ years of living with you, and am looking forward to as many more as I am privileged to have.

Love,

Mom

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!111!11!11!!!!

AAhhhhhhhhhhahahaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

inhale

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Which doesn't begin to sum it up.

The first time I woke up to find you missing, I thought the worst. The worst was that you had gotten up to go party with who knows to smoke who knows what and then carry on doing god knows what until who knows when. Then I thought worser than that. I thought, dear jesus, he's dead. The only reason for him to not to come home is that he's in a ditch, because surely he wouldn't worry me to the ragged ends of my sanity for no reason.

But you did. You thought you had a good reason at the time. Right now I can't even remember what it was, but, as I've come to learn in the times you've disappeared since then, it's usually because you "just needed to go for a walk" or you "couldn't handle it."

I'll admit there are worse ways to cope, but I dearly wish you would find one that didn't worry me to death.

You tell me you understand, and that you're sorry for scaring me.

You have no idea. Perhaps, it is true, I have a greater capacity for letting my thoughts get away with me than other people do. Perhaps other mothers don't imagine gruesome scenarios when their children won't answer their cells, or sob and shake with fear when their precious offspring is two hours late coming home. I can't help it. I love you so much it tears me up. I've told you that I don't need you to be here to put my mind at ease, I just need to know that you are somewhere. Someday you'll have a child of your own, and when they leave home and your imagination starts getting carried away you'll finally understand that I don't need your whereabouts in order to keep you on a short leash, I need them so I can imagine you healthy and whole, laughing with your friends someplace safe and warm. There are a million ways for children to die, and I imagine them all in horrible detail unless I can fool myself into believing I know what you're up to.

You just don't know.

Please tell me where you are. I'll make up the rest,

Love,

Mom

Will you remember?

When you're old and fat like me, will you remember the time you wanted to play badmitton, but it was dark, and at first I said "No" but you talked me into playing under the street light, and we whacked at the birdie with cheapy rackets in the middle of the road laughing and laughing, and when a car came we'd go stand in the yard but sometimes I'd chase you and make boogabooga noises at you?
Because it was fun. I love you so much. The thought of you growing up and away from me scares me, because I want us to be like that our whole lives, and I'm scared I'll goof it up.

Please hang in there while we figure this out,
Love
Mom

Great Big Boy

We've spent the past few days marveling over the story of the young man who caught scurvy by living off beer and chicken wings for two months. We've also read of his siblings who don't know that vacuum cleaners have bags, or what "tsp" stands for. I am proud of you, because even if you started your independent living today you would be better off than those guys. You actively seek out information about daily living, and you never shirk your chores. Never. When you go off to college and your friends regale you with tales of their many lessons, teams and clubs; when they pity you for never having spent all your weekday evenings in a whirlwind of soccer, test prep courses and boy scouts meetings; smile a sad smile as you spoon them a second helping of the only healthy home cooked meal anywhere near campus. Agree that it was terrible while you lounge in clean clothes in a (relatively) clean kitchen. I know things won't be totally spic and span, but I can rest easy knowing it won't be because you don't know how.

Of course, sometimes you end up being too much the big boy. Today you went to the first full day of school in two years. I woke you up at 6, then lay back down. You don't need me to be awake for your shower or breakfast. But I meant to get back up before you left. You needed a hug, someone to ask if you remembered your lunch. I woke up at seven and came running down the steps, but you'd already left. Nervous, you wanted to be on time and you left early.

Hope you remembered your lunch.

Love,
Mom

Puberty

Your major growth spurt still alludes you. You're upset that your 10 yo friends are giving you hand-me-downs. But just today you noticed your own BO, and you've got two- TWO - zits, the most you've ever had at one time. Your Dad and I have both noticed the darkening of your lip hairs.

Dude. It's on its way. Won't be long now. Soon I won't have to urge you to eat. Your voice will change. You'll trip on everything.

It's all part of growing up. It scares me more than it thrills you, I think. It's a reminder that your time with me is limited. Have I done all I can do? Is it enough? Have I let you down?

I know I've made mistakes. I'm human and I can't help it. My hope is that because you're such a smart, sweet, loving, creative, resourceful fellow, you'll do just fine in spite of me.

I love you so much,
Mom

Pictures

I have a flickr account which you rarely bother to peruse. When you do, you invariably start making a ruckus about the pictures of you that are on there. How dare I! Post! Pictures! Of! You!

From your perspective it's a gross invasion of privacy. The whole internet is looking at pictures of you being a goof. Your delicate teenage image is being destroyed.

From my perspective, this is our family picture album. How am I supposed to leave you out? Love and photograph all my children except for you? Nope. Sorry. And as for the whole internet looking: Nope. Sorry. It's our friends and family - the same people who would see these pictures if they were in our house looking at a paper photo album.

Perhaps this is a mistake I'm making. I don't know. I want to respect your budding sense of self and your privacy, but at the same time I think of these pictures as mine. They are images I make and share with people who care. Right this minute you're embarrassed, but one day you're going to look back on these pictures and be so glad I took them. And even if you don't, your future family will.

If this is a mistake, I apologize. I do it with the best intentions.

Love,
Mom