Fierce

Mar 12, 2007 | Boy Wonder

It’s been a fierce morning. Occasionally, our mild mannered but overly talkative 10 year old will explode with theatrics that rival Mt. Vesuvius. There was some misunderstanding that led to the classification of treasure as trash… and trash gets discarded. Oh my.

Poor IZ. It’s moments like this when I’m thankful to be raising a boy—otherwise, most of this drama would be aimed at me, and I’m by no means the most patient of Boy Wonder’s parents. He can throw a lot at his dad without a nuclear meltdown being imminent.

But the drama led to a nice conversation. He’s 10 and I thought he’d reached the age where snuggling had to be on his terms. Turns out, I was misinformed.

Me: Well, this was a nice snuggle. How come you don’t snuggle anymore?

Boy Wonder: Because I’m not invited!

Me: Oh. I thought you had reached the age where we only snuggled if you wanted to, but what you’re telling me is that you’ve reached the age where we snuggle only if I invite you.

Boy Wonder: Right!

Me: Good to know.

Oh, I know they never outgrow the need to be loved on. But, it’s a tough line to walk knowing when and where and how without damaging those delicate boundaries being established we like to call autonomy. I had parents who didn’t understand the need to respect those boundaries and I struggle to this day because of it. I suspect this makes me more sensitive to the situation. I mean, don’t we all over-react to our own parenting at times? Surely, I’m not the only one out there playing the, “I’ll never do THAT” game!

Anyhow, we had a lovely little chat between the sniffles and hiccups. After we solved how to rescue his treasure we went on to plan our next big vacation. By the time IZ joined us for a family mocha break we were well into the giggling over the realization that Boy Wonder would be a teenager when we went to France. The thought of girls Ooh la la-ing his 13 year old self sent us into to fits of laughter. When I relayed a bit of our conversation, I was quickly corrected.

Boy Wonder: I did not say that! She makes things up.

IZ: Your mother is prone to do that. As are you!

Boy Wonder: No, she changes how things were said, I just leave things out.

I’m glad we got that straightened out.

Now, said treasure is in the very disgusting trash outside waiting for me to go through it. Yes, just call me Ms. Peace Keeper. I hear the UN is looking for good fierce help!

Working for the Man

Feb 7, 2007 | Boy Wonder

He always said I’d be working for him someday, but I had NO idea it would be this soon (or for so little pay!). Meet my boss:

Yep, I’ve been “hired” by my kid to be his fulfillment/shipping department. It’s my job to handle all the payment transactions and make sure that if you’ve ordered a Bag Bag you actually get it!

On an up note, people have been incredibly generous with Boy Wonder’s venture. For those of you who have already purchased a Bag Bag, thank you!! You ROCK. But the goodness just doesn’t stop! I mentioned what the kiddo was up to when I ran into JoAnn’s for Bag Bag supplies and the woman behind the register gave me 40% off everything in my shopping cart that was regularly priced…(they’re only suppose to let you use one coupon per item per visit!) and she stuffed my bag full of 40% off coupons. Then the station manager at the radio station where Bug is a DJ has approached Bug about recording a radio spot for Georges. And THEN… his first check came in and a lovely man included an extra $5 for Heifer International. You good people never cease to amaze me!

And I should take the moment to let you know that whether you buy a Bag Bag or not, Heifer International is a great organization to support. A gift of sustainability is a gift that keeps on giving. Check them out.

Now, I must go. The Man is calling; I hear I have to get back to work and stop blogging on company time.

My Feelings About You

Jan 18, 2007 | Boy Wonder

My kid is a thinker. He has feelings, but he tends to run with his thoughts. Given a choice between telling you how he feels and what he thinks, there is no choice. He’d rather build you a robot than talk about his emotions. Rather design you a card or picture on his computer than actually write one by hand. I sometimes find myself struggling to relate to this deeply analytical child—as his way of being in the world is very different than mine.

He is also 10 and quickly reaching the age where the stories about him are no longer “cute” and “funny”—but limited by his need for privacy. He knows I blog and he knows he plays a big role in this world of mine. He’s ok with me telling you the good stuff and with my posting photos, as long as he isn’t “embarrassed” by it. At two you can get away with sharing so much, even at six and seven. Let’s face it, at that age they are doing stuff that warrants conversation. Those little wisdoms that come bounding out of their limited experience are too good not to share. Right?

At ten… not only are the things he’s doing too complicated to share—how am I supposed to explain that he’s looking for molecular modeling on the internet and can’t find anything that isn’t attached to a University when I’m not sure what molecular modeling is—but they are private in nature. It’s stuff you might not want your mother telling the world.

It’s not just about dignity… although I’m trying hard to maintain mine while protecting his. It’s also about being willing to let another person own their own story. I have some time before he looks at me and says, “This is my life and it’s off limits”—but it’s coming. At 10 he has his own blog and his own stories to tell. He is finding is own voice and the line between what part of the story belongs to me and what is his by virtue of experience is getting so hard to see.

I’m hoping, that by taking this first step to letting him go, letting him be in charge of his own story, that the later letting go will be easier. Of course, it won’t be. But practice has to help—if only in teaching of the doing.

These are lessons I’d rather not have to learn.

Today, IZ and I were called downstairs and presented with the card above. The text on the front reads:

Your love is great. So great that in order to give it back I had to wrap it in these three poems.

The inside has the following handwritten poems.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I love spending time with you.
Rather a sewing lesson or a video game,
I love the fun you put in my name.
In or out , you’re always about,
Whenever I am in doubt.
Sometimes I’m frustrated there is no doubt,
But you can fix it before I shout.
Whenever you can you say OK,
So we can all shout Hooray!
Young or old you will always
Make me feel the Love you hold.

Mom
Kind, Happy
Loving, Feeling, Exaggerating
A happy good person
Thank you

Dad
Scientific, Enthusiastic
Thinking, minding, examining
Another good happy person
Thank you.

He closed his little love note with these words:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thank you for all the wonderful things you have given me. Now I give you these poems to express my feelings about you.

It was that last line that sent my tear ducts into overdrive. Of course, it’s not cool to be crying over these things…

Boy Wonder: So, do you like it?

Me: Like isn’t a strong enough word, kiddo. It’s beautiful, these words are beautiful and I love it. I love YOU!

And here is the moment. Where I once would have posted those words without a second thought, I paused. I held his little card in my hands and said, “So, do you mind if I share your words on my blog?” He just smiled and said, “Nah, you can! It’s ok. Honest.”

I find myself overwhelmed a lot these days and he’s not the least of the beauty in my world. As I sat there looking at his card, breathing that moment in I was impressed with his willingness to put to paper his feelings. This wasn’t a gift of a robot or an invention or his newest theory on atomic science. Instead, it was like being handed a flashlight in a dark tunnel and discovering that you are surrounded by astonishing beauty. In making his card, he moved out of his own world and attempted to meet me in mine. Pencil and paper and watercolors and crayon—the stuff of my soul was handed back to me in the most tender of moments.

I almost didn’t write this—I almost held onto it… but even at ten the wisdom that comes bounding out his experiences is so worth sharing. So, I share while I still can.

And then, my thinker child went back to thinking. I thanked him for his gift and said I’d be keeping his words forever. He smiled at me and said. “You know if you don’t want to type all that out, I have it saved on my computer.”

2+4+4

Dec 22, 2006 | Boy Wonder

What’s a mother to do? I’ve been so tired this Season, that I’ve had little energy to bake. Normally with Boy Wonder’s birthday party coming early in the month I bake a birthday cake of his choice but his choice is always coconut. As he only had a sleepover this year and his buddy is hypoglycemic we opted for no-sugar snacks instead of cake. However, in my blurry condition I didn’t even see it coming. I was completely ill-prepared for the inevitable query.

Boy Wonder: “So, for my cake I would like coconut, ok?”

Me: “Yeah, see… as it’s so close to Christmas and we are baking pies and cookies tomorrow—I kinda thought we could skip the old baking of the cake deal this year.”

Boy Wonder: “Well, could you make me a cupcake instead?”

Me: “If you bake one, you must bake a dozen. Too much cake. How about a birthday sundae? We have ice cream!”

Boy Wonder: “If you put it with cake!”

And so it went. At one point I think I might have even suggested a “Birthday Donut”. I finally agreed that since I had to run to the grocery store anyhow I would look about and see what I could come up with—no promises.

Imagine my glee when Safeway had a petite coconut cake! It is a season of miracles after all! I snatched that puppy up and sashayed back home with my equally petite pink box. So what if it’s not homemade. Right? I mean, some cake is better than no cake…and I just couldn’t face the kitchen today. If that had been the last of my blunders, you wouldn’t really have cause to smirk, “Bad, Mommy” at me. Please remember as you read further… I’m REALLY tired!

When I left the store, I thought we had a package of swirly candles at home. Evidently, what we had was an assortment of numbered candles that miraculously added up to 10. Boy Wonder didn’t bat an eyelash. He took one look at his cake and said in a creaky voice, “I’m 244 years old but I’m still here to eat my cake!” He then slumped over and pretended to walk with a cane to the table.

And with that… we ate birthday cake.

Whew.

Birthday Boy

Dec 22, 2006 | Boy Wonder

Boy Wonder and I decided to take Sophie for a walk this afternoon. After she’d done her part this little exchange took place:

Me: “Good Girl, Soph!”

Boy Wonder reaches into his pocket to get out a baggy, and I’m thinking… Wow, he’s 10 and so responsible. Instead. . .

Boy Wonder: “Here,” handing me the bag, “I am the Birthday Boy after all!”