A dozen eggs, a dozen donuts. But a dozen years? Yikes! My oldest son turned twelve just before Christmas. He is officially a 'tweener now. He no longer has to take fluoride supplements (our water is not fluoridated for some stupid reason), and he can sit in the front seat in the car. Consultation with the orthodontist coming up. According to movie ratings he is ready for more mature content. He is getting a few crazy emails from girls who are proclaiming their love for him. For example, "I really really like you. God this is so embarrassing, please don't say anything to me at school."
And in a strange twist of fate, I just got in contact on Facebook with my first boyfriend I started dating when I was twelve or thirteen. I remember that time as a whole lot of fun and quite exciting. I'm pretty sure my mom didn't feel that way. And as a parent of a newly minted teenager, I don't think I'll be feeling the fun and excitement so much either.
One thing I'm very glad of, my proclamations of love and the replies to it were on pieces of pastel notepaper emblazoned with rainbows passed to each other via friends, not on email. My parents could only read them if I left them in the pocket of my Dittos and put them in the laundry.