LIFE IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR...

I ask him to follow me.

After keeping his grandparents' van in our garage for a week, it was time to take it back to the parking lot to which they would be returning late tonight after a bus trip to Texas. I would drive the van, park it, and then hop in the jeep to pick up his sister. Always picking up. Always dropping off. This is my phase of life.

We are at a stoplight and I look in the rear view mirror.

There he is in the vehicle behind me, sitting taller behind the wheel even than his dad; red hair spiky and disheveled in the just-grown-out-buzz-cut look. He has left two buddies at home playing x-box to help me with this errand. He's like this when Dad's gone - solicitous, chivalrous, protective, responsible. And funny. Always funny.

Suddenly, I have about two blocks to pull myself together. One look in the rear view mirror and I am a puddle of goo in my in-laws mini van. His life, my life, becomes an instant movie in my heart. His life as viewed in a rear view mirror. Scenes from a car seat.

The rear facing infant car seat that appeared empty the first couple of weeks, because he was too tiny for his head or feet to show out of either end. Then catching glimpses of the top of his head, in that same car seat, covered with just a little bit of red fuzz; and the tips of his toes, clad in tiny socks and soft baby shoes.

The front facing car seat where I could watch him as he watched passing cars, played with a toy, drank from a sippy cup, pointed out diggers and dumpers, looked at his baby sister. The days I became adept at driving with one arm twisted behind me; picking up dropped toys, handing back suckers from the bank, passing out french fries. The days where errands were never a quiet affair. Squabbles. Questions. Why? Can I? What's that? Giggles. Tears. Long days.

No car seat. Nothing but long legs twisted at odd angles as he tries to get comfortable in the back seat. Size 13 high tops sticking up in odd places. Disheveled hair (always) as he leans back against the head rest, sleeping. Always sleeping on a family trip.

And now, a SEPARATE vehicle. Driving behind me. Following me. Pitching in.

I get behind the wheel of the jeep and resist the urge to turn the radio down.

I have to move the seat forward. HOW? HOW did he get so tall? Could he be six foot already? I think he is. I should measure him tonight. He'll love that.

"Mom, I'm going to church with Jake tonight. I'll be home by 9. " And out the door he goes, size 13's jumping off the porch, spiky hair still going every which way. "Love you Mom."

Always the "Love you , Mom" even when his buddies are here.

Blessed. I'm so blessed.

Long days. Short years.