As of Tuesday, there is a teenager in the house.

I love this new stage (or at least the idea of it, seeing as we’re only one day into it). Put teenagers next to tots and I’ll take teenagers any day. They’re so much more dimensional, rational, fun, interesting. Big bonus: they don’t poop in their pants.

But this stage makes me melancholy, too. The last day my boy was twelve, I discovered him sitting on the floor pushing around tiny matchbox cars with his man-sized hands. It made my eyes smart.

He’s not a little child anymore. Our time with him is fading.

There are no do-overs.

I never used to understand those mothers who made such a huge deal about their kids graduating from middle school or moving into the college dorm. And I certainly didn’t understand all the boo-hooing about babies learning to walk and talk. Kids grow up! It’s how it’s supposed to be! Life moves on, so YAY!

Actually, the real reason I wasn’t all that sad back then was probably because I was too flooded to care about much of anything except surviving. I had no space to grieve anything except my lack of space. I grieved that something fierce.

But now that I have some breathing room, I can ponder. And every now and then I get a glimpse of the future. I see that there are no gangly boys sitting on my carpet pushing around matchbox cars.

I try not to think too hard about that. The achy feeling hurts.

Our first day with a 13-year-old was relaxed and festive.

I declared a holiday from studies, and my son challenged me to a (very slow) game of Ticket To Ride. (It was my first time playing. So far I’m not seeing what the fuss is all about.)

We spent a perfect fall afternoon at the park with friends. (There was some not-so-perfect puppy puke in the van.)

There were bowls of dirt to be made and decorated with real flowers.

And more bowls of dirt with Legos! And matchbox cars!

And evil monster earthworms!
 
There were presents: books (this and this), lots of candy from siblings, a sleeping bag (because in the next few years you’ll be away from home more), and a tripod for his beloved video camera.

And now we have a teenager!

This same time, years previous: aging, buttermilk pancakes, the quotidian (10.25.11), cheddar cheese fondue, apple tart with cider-rosemary glaze, my oldest son’s birth story

For the last five weeks, I’ve been unable to focus. Stuck. Tense. Edgy. Scatterbrained.

Maybe you noticed?

Because my blogging has certainly suffered. When Something Else is taking up all my mental energy, it’s nearly impossible for me to write about the normal stuff. Manuvuering around the elephant in the room is exhausting work.

My husband would come home in the evening and find me listlessly lying on the sofa, moaning miserably, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“No news?” he’d say.

“NO!” I’d explode.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it” he’d say all rational-like, and then he’d go about his normal life. So exasperating.

Last night, exactly five weeks after we first found out about the possibility, we received the green-light phone call. We are going to Guatemala with Mennonite Central Committee for the 2013 school year, January through October.

We’re taking the kids and skipping country! We’re going to Guatemala! We’re going to Guatemala!

WE’RE GOING TO GUATEMALA!

Last night, my husband and I were in a meeting (regarding Guatemala, in fact, but more on that later) when his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number so he ignored it. Not until we got home did he see he had a text message and a voicemail, both from MCC headquarters.

We scanned the text message and then whooped and high-fived. We must’ve been pretty loud because our older daughter got out of bed and came downstairs to see what was going on. We had moved on to listening to the message on speakerphone and were standing stock still in the kitchen, straining to hear every word.

“We’re going to Guatemala!” I whispered.

“We’re going to Guatemala?” she asked, eyes big.

“Yes!”

“We’re really going? We’re really going? We’re really going! We’re going! Yes!” She was trembling with suppressed squeals and jumping up and down. She stopped long enough to give me a death-squeeze around my middle and then tore off upstairs to tell the other kids the much-awaited news.

A little later when I went upstairs to tuck the kids in, my older daughter was laying in her bed, a million questions on her lips, my younger daughter was sound asleep, still unenlightened, my older son was smiling drowsily, and the littlest? The littlest was curled up in a ball under the covers, crying.

“I’ll miss Charlotte! I’ll miss my friends! I’m scared of the airplane!” he sobbed.

So. This is pretty much what we’ll be like for the next two months—all over the map.

Hang on to your seatbelts, people. It’s going to be some ride!

PS. I have so much to say about this—five whole weeks of stored-up angst and thoughts and stories, to be exact. You’ll hear all about it, probably more than you want to. Stay tuned!

This same time, years previous: silly supper, brown sugar syrup

everyday; ordinary; commonplace 

Human pillow: we were babysitting my nieces
and the little one fell asleep on the big one.
To ease her discomfort and tedium,
my older son read her a story.
He also took the picture.

Sunday feet.
(And look at that! The shoes match!)

This is my favorite ever spaghetti sauce.
 Sadly, and very weirdly, my family isn’t as head over heels as I am.
Therefore, for days in a row, I got to eat a bowl of this for my lunch.
Pasta heaven, it was.

As a result of the most recent visit to the orthodontist,
 my son now has a medieval torture device stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Thank goodness for green smoothies!
(Or brown ones.)
(It’s not sludge, promise.)

This same time, years previous: a pie party!, making my blog header, a moment of silence, classic cheesecake, love, the Tooth Fairy, boy in a blue dress