Being a mom to a teen presents one with many win-win situations. Like just the other day, when I let my son have a party and he let me stay at the party. And then the ten of them allowed me to take photos, and then they didn’t object when I invited them to collectively debate consent for photo sharing. (This is why I not only get to publish this post, but can also brag that everything here is posted with permission. And that’s permission from a group of first-years on the Math-Physics-Chemistry track at Hoffmanowa, a legendary Warsaw school I am confident is a waypoint for many of my cohort’s future clients and employers.)

My son has turned fifteen. I am grateful in so many ways that I lose count. For the experience of parenthood. For a child I find easy to love. For the nostalgia not hurting in ways I expected it would. For the ways my fixation on truthfulness has wound up essential to the kind of relationship I now have with my son. For looking at the world in ways that help people come to enjoy feeling seen. For having hands that create safety and pleasure. For more and more ease with people in my home. For recognizing a sense of belonging when I feel it. For his school and his friends. For his talents and capacity for service. And on, and on.

For more writing drenched in motherly love, check out these earlier posts or go to blog index and search for Anker.
Halfway to Twelve
Head Lice: A Memory
Celebration Song
Thirteen
Beta Version