They Might Be Giants (but they’re still my little boys)

Image by CDD20 on Pixabay

This holiday season, we had a number of video calls with distant family members. Normally we see one side of the family on Thanksgiving and another on Christmas, but this year, neither of those visits happened, and we were left with screens. 

Each time, family members asked my boys what they’d been up to. My youngest usually said, “Not much.” His interests have been pretty stable for a while: excelling at academics, reading in his free time, taking violin lessons. He’s chosen not to join any youth symphonies and doesn’t enjoy organized sports, so he rarely does things that are performative. My oldest, on the other hand, is always performing in this or that music ensemble, and my middle plays soccer and runs track, so there are often things to update people on. 

This year, when my youngest would say, “Not much,” I chimed in with, “He’s six feet tall!”  

Most of the family members hadn’t seen him since summer, and while he was clearly growing quite a bit then, this recent spurt has been dramatic. As of this writing in March, my 14-year-old is just shy of 6’1”.  

After a dozen years of being nearly the exact same height as our middle son, the youngest has pulled ahead and, according to the pediatrician's growth model, will likely be the tallest at 6’3”. 

The middle brother, 15, is hovering around 6’. Our first-born is done growing at 5’10”. In the 2023 Christmas photo of the boys, the oldest was still the tallest. In 2024, he was the shortest.

As a 5’2” mother who birthed and then carried these boys around in my arms for years afterwards, these pubescent growth spurts are shocking.  

After we’d had this conversation with family twice, on a third time of being asked, “What are you up to?” my youngest answered: “Apparently the only thing I’ve done all year is grow.” 

I felt a little bad about this, like I shouldn’t be mentioning his height on these calls but rather his intellect, his musical talent, his Wordle-prowess. But jeez! It’s hard to get over when the kid you’re still buying underwear for has become a giant.  

Maybe this is a unique experience to mothers of boys, and in particular, petite mothers of boys. Someone recently said to my husband, “I see your little Jamye surrounded by the rest of you and it’s like she’s in a forest.” 

Sometimes when my youngest hugs me, it feels like he’s flaunting. Recently, we were both in our winter coats, getting ready to go our separate ways in the morning, and we hugged goodbye. It felt very much like he was intentionally burying my head in his fluffy chest and armpits. 

“Hey!” I protested. “Now you’re just flaunting your height!” 

He laughed. “I couldn’t resist since we were both in our puffy coats.” 

These teenage growth spurts are more than physical, of course. These two are maturing in ways that make me proud. My young giant especially is leaning into exploring career paths and is looking forward to taking a challenging courseload in high school. We have regular family devotions and can talk about deep topics. I can leave them instructions for dinner and know it will be done (messily, but whatever). As much as I miss those chubby-cheeked toddlers, there’s something pretty great about this period of rapid growth.

Recently at dinner, spurred by everyone reading the sci-fi trilogy The Three Body Problem (I’m behind), we had an extended conversation about the nature of time and whether it exists if there’s no way to mark it. (For example, if the sun never sets in heaven, will we be aware of time passing? Will time even exist?) My husband was a philosophy major, so he could have conversations like this all night. But to see how engaged the boys were, arguing their theories and trying to define a word we take for granted (“time”) was quite fun. It was certainly elevated above the usual “How was your day?” dinner conversation, and only possible because they could track with the philosophical questions the book spurred.  

It occurs to me, too, that they will actually remember these days with us in a way they have no memory of their youngest years. In some way, our first years are mostly defined by a feeling, and as we age, the memories become sharper and carry into adulthood. So we continue to make these things a priority: family dinners, family devotions, and Forced Family Fun. 

It’s just that I'm doing these things with giants now, with boys that could more easily lift me than I them, with young men that are transforming before my very eyes.