I don’t know why I’m crying. He hasn’t even left for college yet. He’s only 12. But he will. And I miss him already. He’ll walk out that door in about 6 years and have a new, temporary address. He’ll make new friends and go to new restaurants. He’ll buy new books and go to a new church. He won’t have a curfew. He can watch what he wants on TV. He can go to a horror movie even though he’ll go back to his dorm scared half to death. He’ll call me when he needs more money. He’ll call me when he has a question about something he’s sure I can answer. He’ll call me to tell me how he did on a test. And he’ll call me to ask if he can bring his laundry home to me to clean. And I’ll say yes 🙂 He’ll also call me just for no reason at all. He’ll call me to check in and see how I am doing with his little brother. He’ll call simply to tell me that he loves me. Because that’s the kind of son I have. The kind of son I’m blessed to raise. I didn’t expect this emotion this morning when I tuned my Pandora station into my country blend. A little Keith Urban, Rascal Flatts, Brad Paisley and Tim McGraw never hurt nobody. Then Mr. Kenny Chesney decided to remind me how wonderful and terrible parenting is all in the same song called There Goes My Life. I guess that’s okay, Kenny. I needed a good cry.