Back in those strange, slow, stay‑home days,

when the world paused life in a thousand ways,

you worked at your desk with your coffee in tow,

while Jackson—just seven—let his little mind grow.

His feet barely touched the floor back then,

his days full of questions he’d ask you again,

and right on his desk, like he owned the whole flat,

sat the strictest of bosses: your orange‑striped cat.

With a twitch of his whiskers and supervisory glare,

he monitored spelling with managerial flair.

As if he believed that the fate of the state

depended on Jackson’s letters coming out great.

You typed, he scribbled, the cat oversaw—

a tiny home office with its own rule of law.

And time, as it does, kept quietly going,

while right beside you… your boy kept growing.

From seven to thirteen, the years seemed to race—

school shoes replaced, then replaced, then replaced.

Homework got harder, his questions more deep,

and childhood slipped forward in one steady sweep.

Before desks and spelling and school‑day pace,

there were matchbox cars in their scattered place—

little traffic jams on the living‑room floor,

chubby hands steering fleets to your waiting door.

There were nature hikes where he’d roam the ground,

sticky fingers guarding the treasures he’d found,

and long afternoons watching squirrels at play,

his laughter the rhythm of each small day.

And always, before any dream he’d chase,

he’d slip his small hand

into yours as he’d trace

every path with the comfort

of his first, safest place.

Now he’s taller, braver, seventh‑grade strong,

earning dollars for A’s — Mom’s rule, firm and strong.

But you still see the boy who once sat by your side,

small feet on a stool, eyes wide with pride.

For childhood moves forward, too quick to contain—

one moment they’re little, the next they’ve their own lane.

And the hardest part, the truth every mom knows,

is learning to love them as each version grows.

One day he’ll chase dreams in some far‑off place,

with a desk of his own and a life he’ll embrace.

And you’ll watch from the edges where his childhood began,

proud of the man who once needed your nod before trying his plan.

Yet somehow, in every tomorrow he’ll chase,

you’ll always be home—

his first, safest place.