• During the pandemic, when we couldn't travel, I told my sons they could pick a trip for their birthdays.
• My oldest picked Seattle, and my youngest picked Disney.
• It's a gift to me being able to spend time with them and letting them call the shots.

In a few days, I'll leave my husband and 15-year-old son at home while I board a plane bound for Orlando with my 13-year-old son. We're going to the most magical place in the world at the busiest time of the year, and while I'm dreading the crowds, I can't wait for the experience.

In those early days of the pandemic, when all of our travel plans had been canceled, and it felt like we'd never escape our four walls, I told my two sons that we would make up for the lost time when we could. I made them a promise: when they each turned 13, we'd take a trip anywhere they wanted to go in the United States.

It was a way to dream about brighter days and celebrate their milestone birthdays.

I got to see them in a different way

My older son, the quieter and more reserved of the two, turned 13 in December 2022. When we started brainstorming potential destinations, he was surprisingly decisive: Seattle. It was an unexpected pick for a teenager from Virginia who doesn't know anyone in Washington state. Then I remembered all those nights he caught glimpses of the Seattle skyline while his father and I watched "Grey's Anatomy."

Maybe that image stuck with him, or maybe it was just his love of big cities and rainy landscapes. Whatever the reason for his choice, we were bound for the Emerald City.

When we arrived in Seattle, I saw a different side of my son, a quiet confidence that is often overshadowed by the chaos of daily life and squabbles with his brother. It took a couple of days for him to stop asking, "What are we doing next?" and to believe me when I told him that we could do whatever he wanted.

He selected our meals and set our schedule, and we lingered for as long as he wanted at his favorite places — the top of the Space Needle, among the sculptures of the Chihuly exhibit, among the fishmongers flinging their catch at Pike Place Market.

It felt different than a regular vacation

I was charmed by the things my son found interesting and the details he noticed. Walking in the rain back to our hotel one afternoon, I was struck by how different it felt from our usual family vacations.

Those trips are wonderful in their own way, but they often involve a lot of compromise and juggling everyone's interests. This trip, though, was tailored entirely to my son's curiosity and pace, and it gave us a chance to connect in a way that felt new. We ate a lot of pizza, claimed a favorite doughnut place, and — since he's as much of a night owl as I am — stayed up far later than we should have, giggling over late-night TV that I hadn't watched since before he was born.

Our trip reminded me that he's not just my child but his own person with a growing sense of identity and independence.

I'm grateful for the time I get with them

Now, I'm gearing up for my younger son's birthday trip. He turned 13 in September, and his destination of choice was EPCOT in Florida to "eat around the world" in the World Showcase. We'll also be spending a day at Magic Kingdom and a day resort hopping to see the holiday decorations, and we'll rate and review our meals and snacks as we go.

Compared to his older brother's urban excursion, this feels a little less bold, especially since he's typically the more adventurous of the two, and we've done Disney as a family. But I'm looking forward to seeing this trip through his eyes — and being surprised by what he chooses and what holds his interest when it's just the two of us.

I'm grateful for the opportunity to share these moments with my sons. What started as a pandemic promise has become a tradition I love. I've already floated the idea of doing international trips for their 16th birthdays.

My older son wasted no time declaring that he wanted to go to Australia, while my younger son is leaning toward Paris. Wherever we go, being able to travel with them is a privilege that I don't take lightly.

What I hope they someday realize is that sharing these birthday trips with them is a gift for me, too.

• I have two teenagers and I have no idea how they grew up so quickly.
• They don't ask for toys for Christmas anymore, they want my time.
• They roll their eyes in disgust if I offer my time, and if I take too long to respond they move on.

I was surrounded by boxes. Boxes of decorations that still needed to be unpacked, boxes of holiday cards that still needed to be written, boxes of gifts to be wrapped and mailed. And there was my 13-year-old son, nearly as tall as me, standing in the doorway while I surveyed the chaos and contemplated how many days there were until Christmas.

"Hey, Mama. Do you want to go to Starbucks, just the two of us?"

There was so much still to be done and only a few weekend hours left to do it. But I looked at my son, whose face had started to look more like a young adult's than a little kid's, and I said, "Sure, baby, why not?"

I didn't think time would go by so fast

I don't know how it happened so fast, but I have two teenage sons. Thinking back on their little kid Christmases, filled with toys, games, and stuffed animals, I remember the whirlwind of excitement — and exhaustion. I knew they wouldn't always believe in Santa Claus (or wake me up before dawn to open their presents), but it still felt like those magical years would stretch on forever.

This Christmas, though, they're 13 and 15, and their gift requests have shifted from PAW Patrol and Transformers to clothes, tech, and — most unexpectedly — my time.

They don't typically ask for my time outright. If I'm not paying attention or I hesitate too long, the moment will slip away, and they'll move on to something else — usually something that involves a screen, a group chat, and a world to which I'm decidedly not invited.

But every now and then, they let me in. For my 13-year-old, it might look like a quick trip to Starbucks, where we order our favorite drinks, and he fills me in on the latest eighth-grade drama. Or it might be him helping me bake a batch of my "famous" gingersnaps while rattling off information he's accumulated over the course of a school week: what car his friend's dad drives, trivia about the newest roller coaster at Walt Disney World, or how his English teacher knew Bruce Springsteen growing up. For the past two months, it's been an occasional request to run lines with him as he studies his role as Colonel Mustard. Last fall, it was getting up early on vacation to watch the sunrise with me.

My 15-year-old is more low-key because he's an introvert like me. His requests for my time often sneak up on me — and they don't always involve much talking. He might sit down unannounced to watch 20 minutes of an old "Grey's Anatomy" episode with me, tossing in a wry comment about the characters' questionable life choices or the episode's unlikely disaster. Or, like last weekend, he might surprise me by coming home from a friend's house and launching into a detailed account of their "Dungeons and Dragons" campaign, his face lighting up as he recounts every plot twist. On rare occasions, he'll call me into the office to show me what he's doing in 3D computer graphics — a skill he's learned entirely on his own — while I marvel at his creativity.

They don't want it if I offer it

Giving my time to my teens isn't something I can wrap in a bow — and they'd absolutely roll their eyes in disgust if I offered them anything as cutesy as coupons for "Time With Mama." But it's the one gift they (sometimes) genuinely want. Not when it's convenient for me, but when they're ready: when they're stressed, excited, overwhelmed, or simply in the mood to share a moment, or an hour, of their life with me.

Setting aside whatever I'm doing to give them my full attention is as much a gift for me as it is for them. These aren't big, shiny moments — they're quiet, fleeting ones. But being able to give my teens my time is a reminder to myself to slow down and appreciate this life I get to share with them. They're memories I can savor as these teenage years fly by — and moments I hope they'll hold on to when they head off to college and, eventually, into busy lives of their own.

This year, there won't be a mountain of overpriced and unwanted presents under the tree, but there will be time. As much as they want, whenever I can give it. And while I sometimes miss those chaotic Christmases of early childhood, I know I will look back on these quieter days with my teens just as fondly.