I'm not sure how to tell you this, so I'm just going to come right out and say it: The year is half over.
I know, I know! It seems like it was snowing just yesterday!
Wait, that was a bad analogy - it kind of was snowing just yesterday give or take a few days. And it may again next week. I digress.
What I mean to say is, it seems like March was last week. Truth be told, I am only now barely getting used to putting "13" on everything and suddenly out of nowhere, bam, June.
It really hit me when I saw the flyer for October. Right, I'm all over the calendar this morning; bear with me.
A few days ago, Kyle brought home a few "end of the school year" reminder flyers and one was a "save-the-date" deal.
"Parents, please mark your calendars for the upcoming eighth-grade field trip from October XX though XX this autumn," it read. It went on to say "be sure you have the money to pay for it all saved by then" or some such thing.
I'm not positive because I was still breathing into a paper bag at the thought of my son going off for three days with his classmates and three teachers plus an administrative rep from the tour bus company. Yeah, yeah, they already shot me down as a volunteer chaperone.
Um, hello? Do I know this administrative person? Heck, I don't really, really even know the eighth-grade teachers yet, for that matter! Not to mention
Three days. In case you didn't do the math, that's two nights. Away from me. In a hotel. Without his parents. For three days. In a big city. Away from me.
I'm sorry, what was I saying? I must have blacked out for a moment. May have hit my head, also, since it is throbbing.
(Heavy, heavy sigh.)
How on earth did this happen? When did my little preschooler spring up into a teen with a voice as deep as Barry White's? And how on earth is it possible that my toothless infant is now shaving and hitting the open road sans parents?
Indeed, one year from right now, he'll be a few days away from officially becoming an "incoming freshman" - OMG.
High school, homecoming dances and the biggest dread of all - driving.
I'm sorry, was I saying something? I must have dropped off again. That migraine is worsening, and I believe there's some definite tightening happening in my chest.
Ugh and hmpf.
The die was cast just a day later when, as I was flipping through channels while working out near the boy cave in which Kyle was obliterating zombie Nazis on his Xbox, the Disney movie "High School Musical 2" came on, and I was transported back in time to a day when we used to sing along with the duets between Troy and Gabriella.
Before I had a chance to ask him to join in the chorus of "What Time is It?" he spat, "Mom, seriously? I hate that movie, it's ridiculous."
"I know, that's what makes it so great!" I said to myself because Kyle was deep into combat with the undead.
Ah, I knew I was sunk - or so I thought until he suggested a mother / son date night in Niles. Seems he wanted to see Channing Tatum and "The Rock" save the world with a little help from Bruce Willis.
"Sounds great, who do you want to bring?" I asked, thinking he'd opt to take a pal or a cousin to join us, lest he be bored with merely moi in the theater beside him.
"Don't you want to just hang out with me?" he said, smiling.
More than life, sweet boy.
And just as I snapped a mental photograph of that wonderful, precious moment - a verbal assault equivalent to the atomic bomb leveled it.
"'Cause, just think, in five years, I'm outta here. College!" said Kyle with a giddy laugh.
I'm sorry, were we still chatting? Man, my head hurts
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist who is working on a plan to keep her son at home until he's about 37 send her suggestions on how to: a.) make the house more appealing than college or b.) reverse the time-space continuum at firstname.lastname@example.org.