Tween?

My baby boy has told me that 10 is almost a teenager. Really? I don't think so. Don't rush it. Please. Plenty of time for growing up to be a responsible adult person. Responsible for earning your own way no matter how much you want to blow off going to work, responsible for all the bills in the mail box with your name on them, responsible for figuring out life and where it will lead you.

For now my dear son, please please be responsible for earning the title of happy kid, responsible for running to the mail box in anticipation of the major league ball cap being there we ordered for free, being responsible for enjoying each day of being 10. Please. Trust me on this one.

N. chose to have an ice cream cake. I was planning on hiring our neighbor to make him an incredible, wonderful decorated cake like when he was little. I was too busy with all those pesky grown up things to give her enough advance notice, so a trip to the Dairy Queen it was, to purchase a last minute substitute. There's always next year, right? Maybe we have passed the days of putting a toy Spiderman figure or Hot Wheels monster trucks on top of a cake anyway. *sigh* I really liked those days. Cherished memories.

The first day of 4th grade started off without a hitch. I had to do the required sequence of photos (child abuse photo sessions as they are referred to at our place) that we do each year. Click here to read a silly post about 2nd grade. First a shot of the happy student. He is always the tallest boy in the class as they changed the birthday cut off right before he was ready to start kindergarten, so he had to wait another year to board a yellow bus for the first time. (side note: Thankfully we are blessed to have a wonderful friend who takes N. each year to buy his school supplies and anything else he needs and provides hand-me-down clothes that are pristine! [Wish I had hand-me-downs so fine.] She takes care of N's shopping for me 1. because she wants to, 2. because she can, and mostly I surmise 3. because her baby boy is becoming a grown man, himself. )

I am certain that by 6th grade he will be sharing the same shoe size as grown men. Not sure about sharing the same style choices, however.

N. and his "friend-girl" J. are in the same classroom this year, first time since kindergarten. I am slipping a note to the teacher giving her a heads up on seating arrangements she may find helpful. It's in everybody's best interest. Talk, talk, talk. Click here to read about last year.

So as I think about my boy trying to hurry the growing up process (I am smelling the "manly" body spray he has just applied to himself as he gets ready for the 3rd day of school) I am reminded of an "N.-ism" from when he was little enough to not know what being a tween meant.

At bedtime he blurted out our standard good night phrase with a kiss before I had the chance to do the same.

He told me, "Good Night, I love you Mom, Don't let the bugs eat you."

He meant, of course, "Good night, I love you Mom, Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite." (Bedbugs? Ewww. Too gross if you really think about that one too much anyway. I'm just sayin')

I think you're too young to be a tween anyway, my sweet son. For your mom's sake please humor her need to slow down these years. As much as I love to try to imagine you as a handsome grown man with your own bills in your own mailbox, I kinda like you being shorter than me (not hard to be) and still wanting a good night kiss.

Oh and for the record...I got a kiss {in the house} on the first morning of 4th grade but he wouldn't let me wait at the bus stop and kiss him when the bus pulled up. *sigh*