>The thing about kids is that they grow up.
Homecoming Week at Amigo’s high school just ended. A chronological recounting wouldn’t do; the impression of the week is more of a scattered collection of events.
The bonfire had a perfect night — that is, the rain date.
As for Spirit days:
On “Dress Like a Pirate Day”, Amigo wore a bandanna on his head and someone gave him an eye patch to go with it. Substitute his white cane for a peg leg, and there’s one cool pirate.
Decades day? He chose the 80s and wore a shirt featuring the Packer quarterback who preceded Brett Favre. Okay, trivia buffs, can you name the quarterback?
At the football game, Amigo sat with us, but he was never alone. Kids kept walking past and saying hi and calling him by name. The homecoming king himself, the most popular boy in the entire school, sat and watched the game and talked with Amigo for a while. Husband joined us after work, bought supper from the concession stand and bought a sweatshirt from the booster club as the sun went down and the temperature dropped.
But the most glaring sign of growing up was the dance. I picked him up at midnight, tired, hoarse, thirsty, grinning from ear to ear. We came home and found La Petite had caught a ride home from college with her boyfriend to spend a night here with us and with her bunnies.
And that’s where it ended: my two teenagers, one 19, one 14, sharing homecoming stories on the couch after midnight. The high school freshman and the college sophomore chatted and laughed and compared notes. I don’t know how long they stayed up talking about pep rallies, football games, dances, and spirit weeks. I’m sure they didn’t even notice my absence when I went up to bed.
I guess the great thing about kids is that they grow up.

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Mother-daughter bonding and saving money on shoes at the Converse outlet store at the same time.

>I am going to a bonfire tonight. Or, more correctly, I am taking Amigo to a bonfire in the parking lot of his high school to kick off homecoming week. I asked him if grown-ups were allowed, and he said they must be allowed because teachers would be there. But, he added, he would only let me come if he didn’t have to sit by me.
Snicker.
I know what you’re thinking: he’s a typical teen who doesn’t want to sit with his mom. Well, I’m thrilled. He’ll have so much more fun hanging out with his friends than he would sitting with his mother. Socially, hanging with mom would be a real downer. For my disabled child, it’s a great thing to go somewhere without parents. For me, the mom of a special kid, it’s great to know that he will enjoy himself and there will adults (teachers) nearby to supervise. I will be there, but I’ll take a seat in the far back.
When Amigo was in seventh grade and I dropped him off at his first school dance, he told me, “Mom, you worry too much!” He’s right. I’m finally learning to let go and let him soar. But just because I’m mom…I’ll keep my cell phone on and in my pocket.

Post Bonfire Update: This was a perfect evening for me. Amigo. Us. I parked the car, arrnaged a meeting place (the light pole near the fire marshall’s truck), and walked with him over to the fire area. He hung out there with me until a few friends spotted him. He joined them, and then I left. I hung out in the van, made a few phone calls, and generally relaxed, as the enthusiastic high school kids burned a huge stack of wooden pallets with an effigy of their opponent’s mascot at the top. Afterwards, the kids just hung around and talked and laughed and cheered for about an hour. Amigo borrowed a cell phone to call me, I located him and his friends, and then we were off.

Next time I’ll bring a book to read. He really didn’t need me, except for the ride. And when you think about it, isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?