The expected surprise (# WHAT?)

Me as a mom of young kids.  Feel the love.

While raising children, it is best to appreciate all the good things about the stages of their lives that you, as their parent, need to guide them through so they can, God willing, reach some point at which you don't worry about them anymore and can assume all is well with them on a routine basis.

It will happen, you know.

The not being concerned for them on a daily basis.

Mostly it will happen when you're DEAD, but at least then you can be afforded the sweet release of a simple HAUNTING rather than having to step in an intervene/coach/soothe/admonish in a real meat-world way at every dang turn of phrase and drop of hat.

Because this intervention-y activity is what parents do.

• When babies are busy being babies, the big worries are choking and other associated items of crap they can shove in their mouths.
• Toddlers?  Much the same, but comes with willfullness and mobility.
• Young kids? School and burgeoning social interactions as they Find Their Tribe.
• Tweens?  ZITS.
• Teens?  More zits, but also hormones, Finding Their Second Tribe, figuring out who they are, and enhanced mobility.
• Almost-adults?  THE WORLD.

So, in the parently panoply of concerns, the continuum goes from 'crap I shouldn't let the baby eat that' to 'I hate the world if it hurts them.'  Quite the escalation of concerns.

Today came one of The World lessons, in which Thing 1 found himself firmly parked up against the bumper of the car that was once in front of him but was now kind of trying to make out with his in a very NSFW manner.  Yep, if cars were actors, his would be in an episode of Girls that nobody should really watch.

In short: Boy rear-ended a car today.

In what can be referred to as a moment of significance, I got a CALL from him instead of a text, which was very to-the-point but still made this Mama's heart go whizzing out of her chest and straight home, to comfort what it could and take care of the rest.

Comfort I got to give over the phone to start, and taking care of the rest happened in the Tiny House's kitchen with his Dad, who had come to pick him up and take him to get the blood work done that Thing 1 had been heading out to do when he so very impolitely kissed the bumper of the car ahead of him.  We had some Talking, some comfort, words of advice, and I hope a message that forgives mistakes but admonishes a lesson in how to not do that again.

In the end, Things 1 is paying for his own insurance (on his Dad's account), is lucky that we didn't sell the old van just yet so he can drive it to work until the car is fixed, and needs to ensure the repair of his vehicle is effected under his own power (if not cash).  Also, that he needs to slow down and keep a safe following distance.

A much harder lesson to teach than 'no, baby!,' in its own way, and own time.

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He's OK.  He's OK, He's OK.  This is the parent's most fervent wish, no matter how old they are.

He's OK.

We are lucky.

Tiff out.