I grabbed some extra hangers from the garage and started putting his laundry away for him; which is something I rarely do these days since he’s more-or-less taken over his own laundry duty. I glanced at the shirts as I hung them on those adult sized hangers and laughed to myself thinking of the vintage shirts I have stashed away in my own closet; rare and treasured pieces I scoured from thrift stores and flea markets years ago when he was a baby and I had visions of him wearing these one-of-a-kind treasures I found.

But here we are, 12 years later, and I’m hanging up shirts that are all his own; skate shirts, mostly. It’s interesting how you can have a vision of how you want something to turn out but how it unravels all on its own and makes something even better in the space provided.

It’s a reminder to step out of the way.

When he was in pre-school I remember his teacher expressing some concern about his spacial awareness; specifically she was concerned because he was putting things in the cubby above his name instead of in the cubby below his name, where it supposedly belonged. I remember thinking that it was hard for me, too, to understand which cubby was his. This memory has stuck with me all these years later because parenting continues to be the one area of my life where I hear my gut most clearly and listen to it. Now, in his first year of middle school, he made the Honor Roll and I get to sit back on the sidelines, applauding, knowing it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him.

He is his own person; he is becoming more and more responsible for himself, more in tune with his Self, and is putting away his own laundry… on adult sized hangers.

Happiest of birthdays to one of the fucking coolest humans I have the privilege of knowing.