On Wednesday, a day of much tutoring, everywhere that Bar Mitzvahzilla and I went, we ran into a girl he had gone to school with here and there around town who is having her Bat Mitzvah in two weeks. She told me (because my son can't actually speak in the presence of a girl his own age) that her Hebrew's still pretty rough as far as her Haftorah reading goes and that she's just starting to work on her Bat Mitzvah speech right now.
Oh. Hmm. That gave me a little perspective. Me, the Mom in the witches hat, have been riding my son, haranguing him about this speech like it's a dissertation or something, but here's this girl with two weeks left to go, and she's just starting hers. And my son, on the other hand, has his Hebrew nailed down tight, beautifully memorized by heart, all the ups and downs up it, all the trops of it - perfectly.
So he's gone off this weekend to his cousins' house, both of them his two best friends in the world, carrying along all of his PlayStation 2 games and, hopefully, a change of underwear and a toothbrush, and I guarantee they'll try to weasel an extra day out of me tomorrow and then I won't see him until Sunday, his 13th Birthday.
How I came to be the mother of a 13-year-old when it was like a second ago that I moved to Arizona as a 13-year-old myself, this I don't know. How my child, who was born a pound and a half 13 years ago ended up as tall as me "and I haven't even gone through my growth spurt yet, Mom," this I don't know either. But it looks like maybe it's time for a little gratitude and a lot of shutting up so that's what I'll do: I'll be grateful and shut up.