My son and I have similar personalities. He’s a lot like me while my daughter is a lot like my husband.

My husband and Annabel are extroverted and carefree, while Daniel and I are more introverted and cautious. We’re thoughtful. We don’t want to be the center of attention, but we want to be invited to the party. We’re conscientious and organized.  We’re also sensitive to things that throw us off, like traffic jams or bad weather.

Where this mother-son connection might get a bit tricky is when both of us are in a situation that makes us uneasy. One example is flying. The first time I went on an airplane was college. I wasn’t into it. I still get nervous every time I fly and I’m sure it’s because of my lack of experience but also because I have no control. That’s a crappy feeling for someone who’s already cautious.

So it made sense that Daniel might be intimidated to get on an airplane too. His first flight was with me when he was three-years-old.  The two of us were headed to DC for my nephew’s first birthday. I wanted Daniel to start flying when he was very young so he would think of it as “no big deal.” I also couldn’t let him see me sweat. I smiled through every bit of turbulence and told him anything bumpy was fun! Hooray! Like a roller coaster ride! And it worked! He’s a good flyer.

The same thing happens with the weather. Daniel hates bad weather, although he wants to be a weatherman. (There is probably some big psychological explanation for that, but that’s a post for another day.) When the storms are terrible, I hate it too. But ever since he was a little kid, I act as though it doesn’t bother me. I tell him everything is fine and to look at his weather app to track the storm. To take deep breaths.  He used to get very upset when he saw dark clouds and lightening, but now he’s learned to handle it.

The other day Daniel came home from school and wanted a snack. I guess there was nothing here to his liking, so he looked inside the kid’s cookbook he bought at the school book fair. He decided on biscuits. He looked around the pantry to make sure we had all the ingredients and away he went. He preheated the oven, mixed up everything in a bowl, put perfect circles of dough on a cookie sheet, and then baked them until golden brown. He did this with such confidence and ease, the complete opposite of his Mama.

I am not the cook in the family. My husband takes on those main duties. Sure, I can make simple eggs and pasta, but the thought of cooking an entire meal or baking homemade biscuits (!) stresses me out. It’s overwhelming. But watching my own son so relaxed about the whole process made me want to venture out of my cooking rut. I actually found myself dusting off a cookbook my mother-in-law gifted me two Christmas’s ago (it’s Jessica Seinfeld’s The Can’t Cook Book. How appropriate.) and started looking at some pork recipes to try.

Parents are supposed to teach children how to navigate the hard stuff, but it turns out my son taught me a lesson that day. And those were the best biscuits I have ever tasted.

As my daughter was climbing out of the car during morning drop-off yesterday, she turned back to me and said, “Mama, I can’t believe third grade is almost over. It went so fast! It feels like it just started!” And off she ran into the school after emotionally punching me in the gut. Good one, Annabel! Now I have to go to the gym and try not to tear up on the treadmill while your childhood is melting away!

I don’t want to be that dramatic, but the other day I was rocking out to my “I love the ’80s” CD in the mini van ( I still can’t do those mp3/iPhone hook-ups. Old School 4Ever.) and the song “If You Leave” comes on. You know, from The Breakfast Club?

“We’ve always had time on our side
But now it’s fading fast
Every second
Every moment
We’ve got to, we’ve gotta make it last.”

And I start crying. Semi bawling. I have to walk into Walgreens to get my kid a Flonase spray and I pretend it’s for me because my eyes are red and puffy and snot is coming from my nose. Why am I losing it lately?

I’m blaming my friends. My one friend has a daughter graduating from high school and my other friend had a baby girl two months ago. I am in an emotional overload sandwich over here. I’m constantly thinking about my babies leaving me for college or thinking about how they are not babies anymore and where are my babies and why are they leaving me?

I sometimes wish for the days when I had my babies at home with me. The long days when there was no school yet and it was just the three of us filling the day with puzzles and juice boxes and walks to the park. Can I tell you new moms out there a secret? You won’t remember the bad stuff. Those really crappy LONG DAYS that never end? You won’t remember them. The sleepless nights, the tantrums, the poop, the food messes. Nah, you won’t remember that stuff. I don’t even know if I could change a diaper anymore. But you will remember the good stuff. The chubby legs and the night snuggles. The Santa visits and all the family vacations.

Now I try to enjoy every little moment. I put down the camera and just watch. I jump in the pool instead of staying on the side. I play checkers on the floor instead of doing more laundry. I pay attention when they tell me all about the fourth book of Harry Potter. I run upstairs and kiss them goodnight, every night. Because the LONG DAYS?

I wish for them more than ever.