Jacob is twelve

What can you say about twelve-year-old boys?

Jacob was up early on his twelfth birthday to open his gifts. Sweet boy did not open mine but brought it out to the cottage to open with me. Nothing remarkable—a “collar” shirt he can wear to church and school (I had promised I would not get underwear even though his mom had put it on his list). But he got a gaming system as his “big” present, and I have promised to buy a game.

Tonight, the birthday party—a game truck parked outside the house and a bunch of boys (and

, I think, at least one girl) swarmed out for two hours of games, though they kept sneaking back into the house for more pizza. Then, back in the house for cupcakes. Meanwhile, while they  were playing, adults ate snacks and a large pasta salad I made today. I asked how many I should count on and was told anywhere from five to fifteen. Throwing my hands in the air, I used a large package of fusilli (those twisted spirals) and a whole rotisseries chicken breast (I am so glad you can now buy the breast and not the whole bird—makes it easier and less wasteful but I still hate boning and dicing it). Threw in halved cherry tomatoes, diced celery and scallions (the hostess rejected my suggestion of green peas).

Of course, Jacob’s birthday made me nostalgic. I have favorites among my grandchildren—this one is the favorite for one reason, that one for another. But Jacob is the one I am closest to because I’ve seen most almost every day of his life. Fun to go throw various stages with him—the cuddly toddler, the slightly apprehensive kindergartner, the kid who was my dinner pal and slept with me until he was ten, and now, the slightly blasé, slightly sophisticated young man. Waiting for the next phase—so much excitement around the corner for him.

Another biggie today—my first solo adventure in the car. My daughters tell me my driving is fine, but they worry about my getting in and out of the car without someone there. So today, with Megan at home working, I went to a local mechanic’s shop to have coolant added. A small, insignificant trip but another of those baby steps. It struck me how comfortable I felt about driving, without someone watching my every move. I am investigating a wrist alarm that I can wear, which is probably a good idea anyway.

I heard the story yesterday of a woman in her late eighties who refused to have someone live with her, to use a walker or even a cane, to wear an alarm. She fell between her garage and her house and apparently died of results of the fall. I promise not to let my pride make me foolish. My doctor says if I fall again I might well be bedridden. I am grateful for all the concern and intend to take care. But I want my freedom and independence.