A Certain Kind. He's It.

This just in from Idaho via text.

My son. The only one I have. The only son a mom would ever want. He's right next to an angel in my book. The sum of his faults lies in dirty dishes on his bedroom floor and an amazing inability to wake up to an alarm unless it's ringing for something fun.

He's awesome. When I was young and having babies I didn't really want a boy. Boys are dreadful. They bounce off the walls and break things. They are loud and dirty. I prayed (I'm not kidding) that if I had to have a boy that it would be a certain kind of boy. One like Collin.

Said son, at this moment, is half way to Billings, Montana with two of his friends. In my car. He deserves a few days off, he's worked hard all summer. Him and two of his friends going to visit two of their friends. 26 hours of driving for a 48 hour visit. Love it. Happy to lend them my good gas mileage.

And right before he hit the road, he moved out. Loaded up his stuff in my dad's truck, drove two miles away, unloaded it. A perfect move-out scenario. We pretty much think the world of each other in that mom/son sort of way. No negative vibes. It's all good. He's ready to let his alarm go off for an hour and a half in a different house every morning. I'm ready to watch him succeed at school and work and paying bills and grocery shopping... all without a mother hovering in the background. We'll text everyday, he'll come over to study and eat, we'll see each other at church and at school, for that matter. He'll run out of money or decide he doesn't want to take out student loans and I'll invite him to move back in. It's perfect. He's perfect. I'm perfect. It's all perfect.