My friends are carefully watching me, focusing on my mood and at-the-ready for an anticipated melt-down. And as much as I appreciate their concern, I believe it is unwarranted. I will be OK when our son leaves for Australia this week, I promise!

It's a glorious feeling, knowing we've raised him right. We have assurance that he is a man now (albeit a young one, but still, a man) and that he can handle most anything that comes his way. Even the bad experiences, and I'm sure he'll be having some, will become adventures and give him opportunities to rely on God. Oh, maybe there'll be some phone calls for advice-- but maybe not! He's smart, has loads of common sense, he's great with people, and will absolutely love his studies. Imagine it, a year and a half studying underwater archeology? It's a dream come true. His dream.

He's been downloading special songs to his ipod and then sharing them with us. Staying up late so we can have our fill of philosophical discussions. Playing games with us to make laughter memories. This is so cool! Maybe parents of older kids have told me about this, but it never sunk in. How great it is to have grown up kids who are neat people that you like to hang out with and share so much history and memories with...

I suppose those close to me are worried because they've always thought I was an over-protective mom. That my world revolves around my kids. That I will crumble into little pieces when I don't have them close by me anymore. This used to hurt my feelings and make me doubt my parenting skills. But several years ago I decided to "go with my gut," giving them lots of nurturing, lots of love, lots of communication, and letting them get hurt but always there to listen when they needed to vent. And prayer. Lots of prayer. I think it's worked. They trust us.

It helped that my husband and I have worked as a team. They got the mom stuff from me, and the dad stuff from him--and I consciously gave him leeway to raise them to be strong men. It doesn't happen all at once. It happens in stages, one step at a time. You can't just throw them out there and yell, "Swim!!" But when the steps are finished, you wake up one morning and realize, "Hey. He's a grown man!" Now they are men who take care of me if I need it. Better yet, they will be able to care for their future wives and families, too.

I am thankful for my friends who worry about me. But the truth is, our son is going where he's supposed to go and doing what God has planned for him. And I'm definitely OK with that.

We should have known we were in for a rough ride when the guide looked sideways at our collective girth and shook his head when we asked for a double kayak... "Ever kayaked before?" "Nope, first time," we admitted. He shrugged and slid our boat into the water. It sank deep as we scampered in. "Just sit there," my husband said. "I'll paddle for both of us."

He attacked the chore with gusto, rocking the vessel back and forth, threatening to dump us with every stroke. "Take it easy!" I hissed. I couldn't raise my voice, because we were looking for wildlife in the jungle. How many monkeys or birds will hang around with a nagging wife scolding? I was even more frustrated because I could not turn around to face him to let him see the full extent of my fear--every movement upset the delicate balance of our boat.

It only took a few minutes before he was huffing and puffing. "Want me to help now?" I sweetly whispered. "Umm-huh," was the only acknowledgment I'd get. I began paddling, letting my oars slip gently into each side in what I thought was a rhythmic pattern. I don't have a clue what he was doing, but before long, we were running headlong into the back of our guide's kayak. 

"Hey!" I whisper-yelled. "What? I wasn't doing anything," he mumbled back.

We proceeded to kayak our way into uneven circles, backwards, into evil-looking vines where vipers surely hid -- everywhere except forward. Our kids, each smugly sitting inside their own private craft, would bebop back to search for us, and find us still struggling to untangle our boat from the jungle shore.

"Let's try to paddle together," I suggested. "Ready? Left, right, left, right...." Um, nope. I guess I wasn't being submissive enough. "OK. YOU do it." No again. He's never been real verbal. Deep breath. "Here we go," I said with renewed hope.

My left paddle slid into the cool water, then the right. A sideways glance toward the back showed his paddle mirroring mine. Kind of pretty, actually. In a hushed cadence, we paddled our way up the waterway. Left, right, left right. Hold. Rest. Point to the boa constrictor in the tree top. Left, right. No words, save a quiet "whoa" while we watched a mother spider monkey grab two tree branches to form a bridge for her baby to cross. Left, right, rest. Caimans and turtles dotted the logs crowding the grassy shores. "It really is a lot easier to manuever and move with two people paddling," I thought to myself. "Fun, too." We continued on in our quiet journey, whispering "Look!" whenever one of us spotted another animal.

It wasn't long before we caught up to the boys and our guide. They nervously watched as we approached, wondering if we were going to bumper boat them again. I believe I saw relief on their faces as we deftly cruised up beside them like pros. I took out my camera, turned it backward and held it out behind my  head to get a shot of my husband's face. I wanted to see if he was smiling as much as I was... He was.