Eleven Down

My oldest son just turned eleven this past week - I know, where does the time go? How is it possible that I am old enough to have an eleven-year-old child?

I could write a book about the lessons I've learned and facts I have gathered since his birth, but this is a short list of more recent revelations.

One, boys have their own little world that I'm not completely welcome in. There are no more playdates as boys get older; now, I hear a knock, I see a figure bolt by me, I hear a door slam, and they're gone. As long as they're behaving, I suppose I don't need to know exactly what they're doing, but it's reached a point where my daily inquisition is met with eye-rolling and "I dunno, just stuff. Skateboarding, whatever." Whatever indeed.

Two, boys' hygiene is a complete contradiction. The same kid who will flat out refuse to wear the "lame" shirt I just bought him, will walk around with a four-inch wide mustard stain on the front of one he likes. He'll beg me to let his hair grow out to a certain style, but would go to school with epic bed-head if I didn't thrust a brush in his direction every morning. He saves his money for cool sneakers, only to let them disintegrate on his feet without the least bit of concern. I can't comprehend how someone so picky about their appearance in some areas, can be so unconscientious about it in others.

Three, as he gets braver, I get more scared. The first day he strapped on his bike helmet for a solo spin around the block, I wanted to chain him to the house. Frantic questions screech through my mind every time he wants to push the boundaries of his current permissions: will he remember the hidden driveway? does he know my cell phone number? what if something happens? Most of his new ventures leave me swallowing my fear, giving him the chance to prove himself and earn my trust, and then holding my breath until he walks back through the door.

Four, I will most definitely be a monster-in-law. With girls entering the picture as of late, I'm fairly certain he can see the terror in my eyes every time I see "her" (whoever "her" might be that particular day) number come up on the call display. I used to think it was so cute when girls would be around, the ones he claimed, with genuine disgust, were "gross". Now, girls are the enemy, but only to me. The future does not look bright in that department, and I'm afraid I might have to search around for those chains I mentioned, from the bicycle days.

Five, he's a child and a teen in equal parts. While he makes his own toast, prefers a shower over a bath, and watches pg-13 movies, he's also mommy's baby when he's sick. He loves to give hugs and play, yet he's quickly closing in on the height of his dad. Pretty soon he won't have a bedtime on the weekend, but I can always be sure he's going to tell his little brother "I love you" before sleep. (I'll have to try to remember that when they're wrestling each other into submission.)

Six, in some cases he knows more than I do. At his birthday party, we had decided some Wii and a movie would occupy most of the night's agenda. I took the liberty of popping a DVD into the player, only to see a blank screen remain on the television. In my defense, the electronics in my living room would, for most, require a Harvard degree in Information Technology and Engineering, but to my surprise, he had the movie up and running in mere minutes. Those darned kids and all their fancy doo-hickeys. Tarnation.

And finally, seven, drugs are the scariest things in the world. All you can do is talk and talk and talk and hope something you say sticks, but when it comes down to it, they're going to do what they're going to do. The worst part: short of holding their hand in the halls of the high school, there isn't much you can do about "the drug situation" except pray that your stories and explanations have led them in the direction of saying no. I have been having the drug conversation for years with my son, and I think I have him convinced that drugs are for the kids who don't have the confidence to be themselves, and that sooner than later, they'll be the stoners who all the cool kids make fun of. Keep your fingers crossed that my brainwashing will pay off.

Wish me luck. I hear the next eleven are even harder.