Benjamin turned eighteen this week. The scruff on his chin needs attention. But although I admit to still putting the toothpaste on his brush, and buttering his toast, I draw the line at shaving. Brutal, but I need to hold the line somewhere. 

The snow scares him, and he was nervous about walking down the sidewalk. He decided to skirt the whole wide white yard by heading down the driveway and our one block road to meet the bus. Being not quite a helicopter parent, maybe just a hummingbird parent, I walked with him. 

The bus driver was late. No doubt the ice that impeded our path took a toll on his driving. So I tried to engage Benjamin with singing. I don't remember all the words to his favorite songs, no matter how many times he belts them out, but he does. Every word. On pitch. 

"Tale as old as time, something something something," I began.

"Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly." He took the bait. 

I thought of times it is hard to be friends. With Ben. With John. With myself.

Bending. Is that another word for humility?

"Ever just the same. Ever a surprise. Ever as before. Ever just as sure as the sun will rise." The sun poked through the eighty foot pines that listened as he sang. Even the birds cocked their heads. 

This is the song he will perform next week at the Lip Sync at his school, along with his heart throb Aviva. She is normal, and kind enough to come to his birthday party two years in a row. 

Being a mother, being a wife is ever just the same. Ever a surprise. After thirty odd years we are all a little less beastly. Especially when some of us shave.