Teenager in the House

We hit a milestone at our house this week - a teenager arrived.  I knew it would happen sooner or later, but the realization of waking up one morning and actually seeing (and smelling) the evidence is a bit unsettling.

I remember back, in the beginning, when motherhood was new, fresh and I was in total awe of every movement made, every new sound uttered, every bathroom experience.  I diligently made a mental note of each millimeter of growth and anxiously shared it with the one interested, unbiased, person… my mom, the proud grandmother.  She, in turn, would pass on the news to her gaggle of grandmother friends who would oooh and aaaah, as they did with each triumph of the prized grandchildren.

We hit the toddler stage head on and survived the strange eating habits of young children.  Too bad this stage doesn’t last.  There is something about taking a peak at your child when they are napping that lets you capture them for a moment as angelic, uncomplicated and pure…as the chaos of the morning dissolves into a faded memory.

The inquisitive and playful nature of kids invites you to revisit your inner child and does so with a built in excuse that you are doing it for their benefit.  Unfortunately somewhere along the line, when you are scooting down the water slide for the fifth time, re-mastering sitting on a floaty (and accepting the fact you have to be seen in your one-piece “feels-like-I-am-a-sausage” - but may I add very trendy - swimsuit in public), singing loud and clear to every kid music song, or laughing to an episode of Rugrats, your child decides they are off onto something else.  You find yourself perplexed and not ready to give in to the fact that your child is growing up.  What was I thinking when I taught him he could be independent and have his own ideas and thoughts anyway?

I didn’t particularly like puberty when I was going through it myself and I think I am going to like it less having to watch my child go through it.  I get the feeling that the trials and tribulations of the first 12 years are going to look mild compared to what is on the horizon.  Fortuitously (or not) for my son, I pulled every trick in the book on my parents and he will have to get up pretty early to pull one over on me.  I think this is a challenge he is more than ready to undertake.  I just hope I am.  Being a parent really kicks in about now.  If I thought it was hard work before, rumor has it the real challenges are lurking.  The love muffin and I have vowed to present a united front.  Besides two heads are better than one when trying to navigate unchartered adolescent waters.

Somewhere between Barney, Pokemon and the current craze of IM, Counterstrike and wanting a new hard drive for his computer over a bike for his birthday, my son is hitting his stride and showing hints of what he will be when he is a full fledged adult.  And he has what I like most about teenagers and perhaps of which I am most envious: enthusiasm for living and no fear.

So, my son, Happy 13th Birthday and as they say in the old country…
May you always have work for your hands to do.
May your pockets hold always a coin or two.
May the sun shine bright on your windowpane.
May the rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the hand of a friend always be near you.
… and call your mom at least once a week (okay, I added this, but it is good advice you may want to store away and use occasionally).

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-