Oct 31, 2016 3 min read

My son turned 12 last week. He started middle school this year, now requires deodorant, and is even getting hair on his legs. This is an incredibly bittersweet topic for me. Why?

Because he is my baby.

My eldest is a freshman in college, my middle girl is a freshman in high school, and now I’m forced to acknowledge that even my baby is growing up. Where did time go?

If you think about it, growing up is such a funny concept. When does one really count as a grown-up? When you pay your own bills? When you live on your own? When you stop playing video games? And who decides?

My kids have always shown certain traits of maturity. They have always been required to work for spending money, for example. (I don’t pay for cellphones, car insurance, or formal wear for high school dances.) They each do their own laundry, pack their own school lunches and take turns cooking meals for the family.

I’m trying to make sure that they can survive on their own, regardless of when that becomes a requirement. However, there are still times that I wish they weren’t growing up and growing independent quite so quickly.

And occasionally, that wish comes true.

This weekend, my son decided to go trick-or-treating one more year, excitedly donning a Halloween costume and joining his best friend despite the downpour that occurred during the allotted time. That innocence reminds me that there is still a kid in there.

And both of my girls asked me to do their hair this weekend. The oldest wanted a simple French braid,which I whipped out in no time. Then she asked if we could watch a movie, and she curled up on the couch and laid against my side.

The following night, my middle girl wanted her hair curled. After her shower, she gathered up the sponge rollers and a brush and sat on the floor between my feet. I separated sections of hair and wrapped them around the rollers. Some of them, I unrolled and rerolled several times to try to keep them as even as possible. She sat (mostly)­­­­ still and held her head (mostly) at the angle I required.

The following morning, she sat back down while we repeated the process in reverse. I unwrapped each wavy ringlet and spritzed them with hair spray. She excitedly giggled when the curls fell into her face. That innocent joy made me happy in a way I can hardly describe.

Life is hard – even for kids – and, while I know my job is to prepare these children to face those challenges, I also want them to see the beauty that can be found in life as well.

At some point, I know that I’ll have to acknowledge that they are growing up, but that doesn’t have to be today. Today, though, I relish their abilities to fend for themselves and to handle their responsibilities with ever increasing class and grace, I am just grateful that they want to play dress up, have their hair done and hang out at home.