This weekend Big Guy and I went to his god-daughter’s fourth birthday party. We ove this little girl and her parents dearly, but I came away with an overwhelming feeling of thankfulness that the little years are over for us.

I know that big birthday parties with a dozen shrieking children and their doting mamas must have been fun at some point. I just can’t remember that. I remember birthday parties ending and me going to bed with a tension headache while the girls curled around their new presents and watched the Disney Channel. I don’t remember much about four-year-old pack animal parties, the unending movement, the clobbering and throwing of paper, the mad rush to the birthday cake. And someone crying with overstimulation and the fact that somebody else got more candy.

Though I grumble here so often about the pain and frustration of raising a teenager, I was thankful this weekend for the teenagers I have. They drive themselves anywhere they need to go! I never have to wipe any butts or noses! They can make their own lunches! And if I need to take a nap, I don’t have to worry that they are going to run out into the street or damage themselves with sharp objects while I’m sleeping. Oh wait, maybe that milestone hasn’t been achieved yet…