He's 15. He's a good boy. He is right where he's supposed to be.

He's growing up way too fast for me.

"Are you dressing up for your party?" I asked.

"We're just hanging at her house," he said of the friend. "It's just like five of us. I have my tux tshirt on"

Okay. I know I know nothing about these things.

So an hour later, when i see my husband digging out an older, beautiful suit, i'm wondering why, until Michael comes downstairs in his "mobster" outfit. It's his black dress pants and shirt, and a burgundy tie I'd bought for his father. He slipped on the perry ellis double breasted jacket.

"Fits," Dad says.

It almost takes my breath away.

He's so frickin HANDSOME. I am his mother, and I know I'm biased, but even with his football helmet induced acne, he is a gorgeous young man.

On the way to his little party, I say the regular things... make good choices... call me if you need to... Since he's all in black, and it is Halloween, I ask him to promise to hold the hand of someone with a flashlight if they go out looking for candy.

I know, great excuse..."Uh, my mom says I need to hold you hand, kay?"

He'll be driving in a couple of months. He's looking into early admission to the University of Washington. He's perfect.

And he's growing up.