By eight o’clock the house is no longer quiet. It doesn’t matter what day it is — once C’s feet hit the floor, the whole rhythm of the morning shifts. He doesn’t ease into the day like some people do. He comes in hot, already talking, already planning, already working, already three steps ahead of me before I’ve even finished my first cup of coffee. Which is when the house wakes up and c gets to work ie gaming.
And that’s the thing about raising a kid who isn’t a kid anymore. He’s young, yes, but he’s living a life that demands more from him than most adults ever had to handle at his age. Two companies. A job. A fiancée. A trip he’s planning down to the last detail. Gaming lessons he teaches like a grown man who knows his worth. And somehow, in the middle of all that, he still finds time to help me run this house like he’s the assistant manager of the Cates Family Corporation. Thank the Lord for C because some days I just can’t do the things I need to.
He starts the morning checking messages — not “hey girl” messages, not “what’s up” messages, but real business messages. People needing things. People asking questions. People wanting to book him. People wanting to hire him. People wanting him to fix something, teach something, explain something. And he does it. He handles it. He answers like someone who’s been doing this for years.
I watch him sometimes, the way he moves through his morning, and I think, “Lord, this boy is going to run the world one day.” And then he turns around and asks me where the ranch is and mom can you make Coffee and I will start the pizza, and I remember he’s still mine.
By nine, he’s already juggling three things at once. He’s talking to his fiancée about the trip he is planning in his mind — dates for when he gets there using items from the Dollar Tree because there is nothing to do in Hobart, Oklahoma but make your own date nights.
One day Charlie will need gas money if and when he gets his driver’s license because he sure isn’t going to help his dad out with gas, food money, then they need to decide what they want to do, and what they want to see. And build a budget because money don’t grow on trees like the think.
Charlie He’s spreadsheets open, tabs open, apps open, and he’s explaining things to me like I’m the teenager and he’s the parent. And honestly? Half the time he’s right. Just don’t tell Charlie I said that because it might go to his head and we sure don’t need that.
He checks prices for me too — not because I ask, but because he knows I’m trying to stretch every dollar until it screams. He compares Dollar Tree, Dollar General and whatever other store he thinks might have a better deal. Charlie is like me and he knows where the cheapest version of everything is. He knows when something is worth buying and when it’s a trap. He knows how to walk away from a bad deal, and he’s reminding me to do the same.
We talk about Easter because it’s coming fast, and moms don’t get to ignore holidays just because life is busy. He helps me figure out what we still need — basket fillers, candy, dye kits, decorations, the things that make the day feel special even when money is tight. Then tells me what’s cheaper where, what’s worth grabbing now, what can wait until the weekend. He’s got opinions, and he’s not shy about sharing them because no, matter our children’s ages they deserve an Easter Basket.
And somewhere in the middle of all this, we yell. Not angry yelling — just Cates yelling. Loud families are alive families. We yell across rooms, across hallways, across the house and even upstairs downstairs at times. We yell because we’re talking, not because we’re mad. We yell because that’s how we communicate. We yell because we’re busy and moving and trying to get things done. And then we laugh, because that’s who we are.
By ten, he’s teaching me something new — a shortcut, an app, a trick, a way to make something easier. He teaches me things I didn’t know I needed to know. He teaches me patience. He teaches me that the world is changing faster than I can keep up with, and he’s the one helping me stay in the race.
By eleven, he’s settled into his groove. He’s working. He’s planning. He’s building. He’s growing. And I’m watching him, proud and tired and grateful all at once. Because this is what real life looks like. Not perfect. Not quiet. Not curated. Just a mom and her son, both working, both learning, both trying to make something out of the day God handed them.
And that’s the truth of our mornings — loud, busy, messy, productive, and full of more love than anyone on the outside ever sees. Because in the blink of an eye he will be out on his own living this thing called life and yes, the circle will remain unbroken and even though this is my Circus he is one of my Monkes no, matter where he is or why.
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
