This morning, my son Alex burst into my room, brimming with excitement as he waved a telescope and a pair of binoculars he had crafted from paper, tape, and staples. “Can I take these to Grandpa’s today? I want to show him!” he exclaimed.
“Absolutely! I think he’ll really enjoy them,” I replied, sharing in his enthusiasm.
“Mom, just so you know, they’re not real,” he said with a wide grin, laughter bubbling up between us.
“I’m aware!” I chuckled, joining in his laughter.
“Mom, can I have a big hug?” he asked, leaping into my arms and wrapping his slender arms around my neck. He planted a sweet kiss on my cheek, and I returned the gesture, marveling at how soft his skin still is. It’s a stark contrast to his 17-year-old brother, Jake, whose face is now adorned with a scruffy beard. Jake rarely kisses me on the cheek anymore; he prefers to lean down and kiss the top of my head, as he towers over me by at least five inches.
Alex is the only one in the family who still stands shorter than me, and I cherish this moment. I love being 10 years old. I’m making a conscious effort to soak up every bit of this age before he turns 11, which will usher in middle school, a few blemishes, and likely some braces.
With only a few weeks left in the realm of 10, I find myself reflecting more than ever. Alex is changing almost by the minute. One moment, he’s asking me about his baby years, and the next, he’s lamenting how he’s not old enough to drive or shave yet.
What I adore about being 10 is that while he’s becoming more independent, he still holds onto his childhood. He only needs gentle reminders—often multiple times—to brush his teeth or take a shower. I no longer have to hover near the bathroom, waiting to intervene in case he gets into a shampoo mishap.
Alex still thinks I’m cool and smart. He approaches me with questions and concerns, fully trusting in my ability to guide him. When we head to the library or grab a slice of pizza, he occasionally lets me hold his hand, a small gesture that warms my heart.
He doesn’t require me to wait with him at the bus stop anymore, but he’s always pleased to see me when I do, which does wonders for my ego, especially given that my two older sons have perfected the eye roll.
But I know it’s coming. I can sense that shift approaching.
It’s a cliché to say that time flies, but it truly does.
During dinner the other night, we were chatting about the latest movies and the day’s happenings. They all seemed so grown-up—too grown-up. I couldn’t bear the thought of them aging any further, so I decided to act a little younger myself.
I playfully launched a spitball at Jake, who laughed and tossed it back. Alex looked up, shaking his head as he said, “Mom, we’ve talked about table manners. How many times do I have to remind you?” He then took a sip of his iced tea and gargled, which had us all in stitches. As we cleared the table afterward, he wrapped those long, skinny arms around me unexpectedly and said, “I love you, Mom.”
Yep, I’m definitely going to miss 10.
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In summary, the joys of parenting at the age of 10 are fleeting, and embracing these moments with laughter and love is essential. As children grow, we must cherish their childhood and nurture the bond we share.