In eight days, it will be exactly eight months since we moved into our new house.
There have been minor things to fix since then, but all in all everything has been good and the house is still intact.
After last weekend though, I can officially say the place is "broken" in.
There is now a dent in the wall on the main floor. Squarely at the bottom of the staircase leading from upstairs down to my living room.
It was a total accident and, surprisingly, not even the result of any rough-housing or teenagery.
The base of a pedestal fan fell off as Ryder was carrying it downstairs to help air out the kitchen.
Why did the kitchen need airing out you ask?
Not from the smell of six teenage boys who were gathered for his birthday party, but from the smoke coming off of the burgers I was frying up for them for dinner.
For those of you who know me, it won't surprise you that I've filled the kitchen with smoke more than a few times.
Raising two boys has come with lots of messes, dents, and dings.
I've grown accustomed to scuffs and scratches and wear and tear on my furniture.
The other boy moms and I have a standing joke that "this is why we can't have nice things!"
But I wouldn't trade it for the world.
As frustrating as it was at that moment when I saw that dent in the wall, I knew it wouldn't do me any good to be angry about it. And I certainly couldn't dwell on it and let it ruin his birthday party.
I surveyed the damage from multiple angles.
Fortunately, it's a dent and not a full-on hole. In fact, unless you know it's there, most people won't even see it.
So I decided that it will forever be a way for me to remember his 16th birthday party and the laughter that filled my home that night.
I probably will never fix it. It's now part of this house and the history we are building here.
I only have two more years with him as a "child."
When he's gone I'll be grateful for these tangible things that surround me and remind me of him and the adventures we've had here. Even the not so good ones.
Tuesday I take him to the DMV for his driver's test. One more step toward his true independence.
He says he's not afraid, but I certainly am.
I know it's an important step for him, so I'll do my best to not let him see the fear I have in my heart.
I will, however, let him see the fierce pride that I feel when I see the amazing man he is becoming.
This wasn't the first dent that he's put in a wall in his lifetime, and I know it won't be the last.
But I can hope that most of his dents are just that. Minor dents and dings that come from the day to day challenges of living this perfectly imperfect life.
Not huge holes that require significant remodeling.
I wish for him so many things as he continues his journey into adulthood:
Enough struggle to be able to appreciate the good things in life
Enough hope to not give up when times are hard
Enough love to share with the people that will make up his extended "family" when he breaks away from ours
Enough courage to try as many new things as he possibly can
Enough confidence to always be true to himself
Enough joy to keep him smiling
He'll always have me and this house with the dent in the wall to come home to, and I hope that in that teenage head of his he realizes that.
Half of you are probably shaking your heads at me right now.
After all, I still have two years left with him. There's plenty of time before I need to really think about him going off on his own.
My logical brain knows that, but my heart tells a different story.
Judging by how quickly the last 16 years went, I'm not so sure I really have that much time.
There will likely be another dent or two before he leaves me.
I guess as long as these walls can take it, I can too...