Happy birthday to my biggest boy. I cannot believe I'm the mother of a 17-year-old. This was his last birthday as a child. A minor. A non-adult. A teenager still under my complete responsibility. This time next year, he'll be a legal adult. Not yet able to have a beer, but old enough to smoke a cigarette, to see an "R" rated movie, to join the military, to get married, to vote, to say "I'm 18 now, Mom, you can stop bugging me to get a haircut." My baby will be old enough to do any of those things. I can certainly voice my opinion, but the decisions will no longer be mine. They'll be his.
Oh, and yes. I need to stock up on candles. He requested a pan of brownies instead of a cake. We told him one candle had to represent 7 years.
