I've been up since before five and have to be at the gym ready to spar at nine thirty. This is obscene for a Saturday. Also, I've realized that while I effortlessly write here, when I am given a very specific topic, try to curb my tangents of personal opinion and observation (and the use of the word 'fuck') so as to be taken more seriously while meeting a deadline, it's an entirely different animal. I think it's what's keeping me up at night. The only cure is to just spew out random stories to try to get the juices flowing. As a result, you get a dose of silly. But y'all should be used to that from me by now.
So, Monday something crazy came over me and I had so much coffee through the course of the day that by the time I got home from work I felt just a little bit like a speed freak that had been on a seven day bender. All I could really focus on was trying not to throw up, so when The Kid sauntered into my room after brushing his teeth for bed, my memory of what was happening that day didn't serve to prepare me for what was about to come out of his mouth.
The Kid is extremely intelligent, staggeringly so. The flip side of this is that he is very young for his age emotionally in some ways. I almost hate to say that because I think that in reality, he's exactly where a ten year old should be, because I don't expose him to things that are not age appropriate, unlike lots of his peers. He's innocent and I'm ok with that. There will be plenty of time for the loss of that in life, after all. So when the following came out of his mouth, I almost threw up coffee right then and there……
"So Mom, do you know why it's absolutely ridiculous and scientifically incorrect for boys to call their erections BONERS?"……. (at this point I look at him splayed across my bed, looking at me like he was just discussing the weather and I immediately felt like I was taking crazy pills) "Because men don't have bones in their penis. Makes no sense."
Wait. What? It took me a moment to remember that this was the week that there was a nurse from the county coming to give them their 'human growth and development' class over a couple of days, boys in one room, girls in another. I literally spent the next twenty minutes staring at him while I listened to him repeat, verbatim, what this woman had said to them that day. He's like a tape recorder. He described in great detail the process of puberty, went on to give me laundry list of 'slang terms' that were not necessary to use and expressed furrowed brow concern at being able to remember all of the technical terms for this stuff. At one point he said something about a shaman and I had to wonder what that had to do with wet dreams, which he is incredibly concerned about because 'he'd hate to have to explain that he didn't actually pee the bed, it was something WAY more grown up than that.'
"Oh, you mean semen? It's not shaman, it's semen that I think you're talking about", I finally said after figuring out what the breakdown in communication was and doing my very, very best to not laugh in this child's little face.
"Yes, that's right. Wait, how do you know that? Did you take this class in school?"
Oh, boy. Time for bed, Kid. He obliged, but not before wrinkling his nose and telling me that the following day was going to be awful, because they were going to be discussing girl parts. Apparently someone in his class had already brought up boobs, but that you'd have to be blind to not know about boobs. There was more and he was not sure he even cared to listen to it.
The next morning I felt like an alcoholic, only able to control my coffee overdose jitters by partaking in the hair of the dog. As I watched him eat his waffles, he turned to me and asked if he could refrain from wearing sneakers to school. I said no and asked him why. "So that when I throw up in my shoes after that class it will be easier to hose them off, I should wear Crocs." He's nothing if not pragmatic, bless his heart. I shuffled him into the car and was having internal dialogue about how funny the next round of stories was going to be when all of the sudden he let out a shriek as we rounded the corner out of our neighborhood.
Kid: STOP THE CAR!!!! GO BACK!!! I FORGOT SOMETHING!!!!
Me: Stop yelling, what's the matter? If you forgot your homework you'll have to explain that to your teacher. I'm not going back. Responsibility to the responsible.
Kid: I've got to get my Abraham Lincoln hat!!!! I HAVE TO. (he was Zombie Lincoln for Halloween)
Me: No you don't, that's ridiculous. What are you even going on about?
Kid: The nurse specifically said that when we walked into that room to discuss girl parts, we had better be wearing our mature hats. Everyone knows that there's no one more mature than Honest Abe.
This is my life. At this point you can't help but laugh right in their face, which was met with a healthy dose of indignation and borderline side eye.
I'll admit that I waited all damn day to hear about 'girl parts'. When I saw him later that night, I tried hard to not be like a detective interrogating a suspect. I tried to play it cool and ask how it went, and he was the epitome of uninterested. I was told that it was stupid, and that the picture of the naked woman wasn't a real picture but a drawing with reproductive organs and that he couldn't understand why the boys in his class were unhappy about this…. cause he didn't want to see any real pictures of 'eggs' that make babies. (yep, he used air quotes every time he said egg)
It was really unfulfilling. I thought I'd get a plethora of funny stories, but all he said was that every time someone asked about sex, the nurse said that she couldn't go there, 'because she works for the county, Mom, the poor woman will lose her job if she doesn't stick to what she's allowed to talk about'. He was totally unbothered by this, because according to him, you can go to the library and look up anything you want to, there's no need for anyone to have to tell you and you should do your own research. Honestly, he's right. I know grown adults that don't get this concept, but my guy seems to inherently understand. Makes a mother proud.
The only thing he was interested in telling me was that according to this mystery nurse, the boys were far more mature than the girls group, which apparently couldn't contain themselves throughout the process. The Kid takes this as scientific evidence that girls are indeed not living up to their reputation for acting more grown up than boys at this age, and that someone should write that down.
And with that, everything went back to normal. He still sleeps with his stuffed animals, reads textbooks for fun, refuses to wear pants in the house and knows far too much accurate information about rifles for such a tender hearted pacifist…. because his insatiable need to read about war, history and firearms is as curious as it is hearty. He still is convinced that we will probably have to settle for being next door neighbors when he grows up because his wife may not want to live in my house and he's going to have to make concessions to shut her up. He still proclaims that I will always be his best friend and is kind enough to become indignant when I suggest gently that he may one day change his mind about such things.
I know all too well that this won't last and while I know that there is life far beyond my being a parent, sometimes it feels like a knife to the gut. I'm not going to lie, this is the second and last time I'll raise a child and I'm in no hurry for him to grow up. He's in no hurry, either. He loves being a kid, which I think is a true testament to his wisdom. Unlike him, I spent my entire childhood waiting to be an adult and propelled myself into a world I probably wasn't ready for far before the time I should have. But then again, it's no secret that my son is far smarter than I could ever be in so many ways. I'd like to take credit, but I think he came to me that way.
Here he comes now. The nicest thing about being his mom is that he's one of the only people in the world that I'm always happy to see. I love him. The end.
So, Monday something crazy came over me and I had so much coffee through the course of the day that by the time I got home from work I felt just a little bit like a speed freak that had been on a seven day bender. All I could really focus on was trying not to throw up, so when The Kid sauntered into my room after brushing his teeth for bed, my memory of what was happening that day didn't serve to prepare me for what was about to come out of his mouth.
The Kid is extremely intelligent, staggeringly so. The flip side of this is that he is very young for his age emotionally in some ways. I almost hate to say that because I think that in reality, he's exactly where a ten year old should be, because I don't expose him to things that are not age appropriate, unlike lots of his peers. He's innocent and I'm ok with that. There will be plenty of time for the loss of that in life, after all. So when the following came out of his mouth, I almost threw up coffee right then and there……
"So Mom, do you know why it's absolutely ridiculous and scientifically incorrect for boys to call their erections BONERS?"……. (at this point I look at him splayed across my bed, looking at me like he was just discussing the weather and I immediately felt like I was taking crazy pills) "Because men don't have bones in their penis. Makes no sense."
Wait. What? It took me a moment to remember that this was the week that there was a nurse from the county coming to give them their 'human growth and development' class over a couple of days, boys in one room, girls in another. I literally spent the next twenty minutes staring at him while I listened to him repeat, verbatim, what this woman had said to them that day. He's like a tape recorder. He described in great detail the process of puberty, went on to give me laundry list of 'slang terms' that were not necessary to use and expressed furrowed brow concern at being able to remember all of the technical terms for this stuff. At one point he said something about a shaman and I had to wonder what that had to do with wet dreams, which he is incredibly concerned about because 'he'd hate to have to explain that he didn't actually pee the bed, it was something WAY more grown up than that.'
"Oh, you mean semen? It's not shaman, it's semen that I think you're talking about", I finally said after figuring out what the breakdown in communication was and doing my very, very best to not laugh in this child's little face.
"Yes, that's right. Wait, how do you know that? Did you take this class in school?"
Oh, boy. Time for bed, Kid. He obliged, but not before wrinkling his nose and telling me that the following day was going to be awful, because they were going to be discussing girl parts. Apparently someone in his class had already brought up boobs, but that you'd have to be blind to not know about boobs. There was more and he was not sure he even cared to listen to it.
The next morning I felt like an alcoholic, only able to control my coffee overdose jitters by partaking in the hair of the dog. As I watched him eat his waffles, he turned to me and asked if he could refrain from wearing sneakers to school. I said no and asked him why. "So that when I throw up in my shoes after that class it will be easier to hose them off, I should wear Crocs." He's nothing if not pragmatic, bless his heart. I shuffled him into the car and was having internal dialogue about how funny the next round of stories was going to be when all of the sudden he let out a shriek as we rounded the corner out of our neighborhood.
Kid: STOP THE CAR!!!! GO BACK!!! I FORGOT SOMETHING!!!!
Me: Stop yelling, what's the matter? If you forgot your homework you'll have to explain that to your teacher. I'm not going back. Responsibility to the responsible.
Kid: I've got to get my Abraham Lincoln hat!!!! I HAVE TO. (he was Zombie Lincoln for Halloween)
Me: No you don't, that's ridiculous. What are you even going on about?
Kid: The nurse specifically said that when we walked into that room to discuss girl parts, we had better be wearing our mature hats. Everyone knows that there's no one more mature than Honest Abe.
This is my life. At this point you can't help but laugh right in their face, which was met with a healthy dose of indignation and borderline side eye.
I'll admit that I waited all damn day to hear about 'girl parts'. When I saw him later that night, I tried hard to not be like a detective interrogating a suspect. I tried to play it cool and ask how it went, and he was the epitome of uninterested. I was told that it was stupid, and that the picture of the naked woman wasn't a real picture but a drawing with reproductive organs and that he couldn't understand why the boys in his class were unhappy about this…. cause he didn't want to see any real pictures of 'eggs' that make babies. (yep, he used air quotes every time he said egg)
It was really unfulfilling. I thought I'd get a plethora of funny stories, but all he said was that every time someone asked about sex, the nurse said that she couldn't go there, 'because she works for the county, Mom, the poor woman will lose her job if she doesn't stick to what she's allowed to talk about'. He was totally unbothered by this, because according to him, you can go to the library and look up anything you want to, there's no need for anyone to have to tell you and you should do your own research. Honestly, he's right. I know grown adults that don't get this concept, but my guy seems to inherently understand. Makes a mother proud.
The only thing he was interested in telling me was that according to this mystery nurse, the boys were far more mature than the girls group, which apparently couldn't contain themselves throughout the process. The Kid takes this as scientific evidence that girls are indeed not living up to their reputation for acting more grown up than boys at this age, and that someone should write that down.
And with that, everything went back to normal. He still sleeps with his stuffed animals, reads textbooks for fun, refuses to wear pants in the house and knows far too much accurate information about rifles for such a tender hearted pacifist…. because his insatiable need to read about war, history and firearms is as curious as it is hearty. He still is convinced that we will probably have to settle for being next door neighbors when he grows up because his wife may not want to live in my house and he's going to have to make concessions to shut her up. He still proclaims that I will always be his best friend and is kind enough to become indignant when I suggest gently that he may one day change his mind about such things.
I know all too well that this won't last and while I know that there is life far beyond my being a parent, sometimes it feels like a knife to the gut. I'm not going to lie, this is the second and last time I'll raise a child and I'm in no hurry for him to grow up. He's in no hurry, either. He loves being a kid, which I think is a true testament to his wisdom. Unlike him, I spent my entire childhood waiting to be an adult and propelled myself into a world I probably wasn't ready for far before the time I should have. But then again, it's no secret that my son is far smarter than I could ever be in so many ways. I'd like to take credit, but I think he came to me that way.
Here he comes now. The nicest thing about being his mom is that he's one of the only people in the world that I'm always happy to see. I love him. The end.
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