Wow if that is not an interesting title for a blog entry, I don't know what is. I think it has more meanings than I intended.
May is a frenetic month in our house. And I mean frenetic in the exact definition of the word: wild and uncontrolled. We are going here and there, doing this and that, living day to day with little time for reflection on the fact that birthdays are happening, Little League playoffs are coming, and summer is looming just over the horizon.
There are precious little moments when I can think rather than do. This goes for the whole family. Sometimes this kind of distraction can be welcoming but in May it is always a little much, and it happens every year.
My list of things going on is dizzying. Two boys in Little League, one husband coaching and working several full-time jobs, one boy in soccer, one just auditioned for a musical with rehearsals starting (gulp) tomorrow, one doing cross country, volleyball, and softball at school, one starting choir, end of year homework projects, building boats of cardboard and duct tape (I just figured out this is PE homework), Gold Rush Day, art show at school, it could go on and on. Add to that two birthdays; my middle and youngest turn twelve and ten. It is the end of single digits. We are now permanently in the double digits in this house. And now, thanks to a birthday gift, we have Hugh Hefner living with us. More on that later.
In May our normal healthy family fare is thrown out window and we are using the Little League snack shack, with it's substandard nutritional content, as our personal restaurant. I actually had a dream the other night that my boys started eating candy for breakfast, lunch and dinner, all from the snack shack. I woke up feeling irritated and guilty. I proclaimed that the eating of candy shall end, which shall be honored . . . until . . . until the next visit to the snack shack when I feel a craving for a Reese's to get me through the evening until dinner. I mean REALLY, I'm not the one with braces in my house. Then I went into my kitchen late in the night and made hard-boiled eggs, homemade yogurt, and whole wheat blueberry muffins to assuage my guilt. Nutritional snacks are in the house! For a day or two anyway.
In all the goings on this month, I have noticed something happening that has produced the most curious mix of emotions in me. No, it's not the candy consumption. It is the awareness that love is in the air. It must be spring. My older two boys are thirteen and almost twelve, and they are becoming more aware of girls. Or vice versa.
It's the vice versa that is getting to me, particularly in regards to my middle son. One day recently I noticed that there were some girls at his baseball game. I was pretty sure they were not there because they are avid Little League fans, but I didn't know why they were at the game. Then I overheard them talking to my youngest and suddenly I realized what they were doing there. They were there to watch my son. Gulp. Are these groupies? Since I was certain that my middle had no idea they were even there, I didn't worry much. He was blissfully ignorant. But how long will that ignorance last? With my youngest fully aware of the situation, I don't think it will be long.
Then, at a recent family event at school, I was observing my middle son from the fringes and was mildly surprised and pleased to see him dancing. Yes, dancing. Even a little break dancing. When and where did he learn how to do that? Then, still watching him out there having fun, I became aware that there were quite a few girls around him. I stopped watching him and watched the girls. WAIT a minute, there are not only 6th grade girls hanging around him, there are 7th grade girls too! I wanted to run out and tell those thirteen-year-old girls to get away. I momentarily became an overprotective crazy mother with a wish to preserve the young innocence of my little boy from the brazen attention of make-up and brassiere-wearing, hair-flipping teenage girls. But clearly he is not a little boy anymore, he is a handsome almost-twelve-year-old, who as one friend recently told me, looks fifteen. And any day now he is going to be enjoying, instead of being annoyed by, the attentions that are directed his way. Much like his thirteen-year-old brother is experiencing.
I have an overwhelming sense of "Oh here we go!" We are on the rollercoaster of adolescence and starting to pick up speed. I have picked up my copy of Your Ten- to Fourteen-Year-Old by Lousie Bates Ames and intend to read it cover to cover now as it spans all the boys in my house. The subtitle says it all: from peer pressure to sibling rivalry to sexual awareness. There is a whole chapter on mother-son relationships. I'm scared to read it.
All this going on in our house is why my husband and I think it is so funny that our youngest has the new nickname Hugh Hefner. Unlike his brothers, he is still a little boy, roaming the house all day in his new bathrobe. It was number one on his birthday wish list and he wears it any time he is home. He also wanted a fan for his room, which he feels is often too hot for him. So he sits in his room, in front of the fan, wearing his cozy bathrobe, perfectly happy. A mini Hugh with his own personal wind machine, a force of personality his brothers will begin to appreciate when they realize he is already talking to the girls they want to talk to.
It's going to be a wild ride. Wait, it already is one.