Has anyone seen my little boy?

I haven’t blogged in a while. After my brother died finding the humor in the mundane became a bit of a challenge but I feel like I might be ready to ease back in. So here we go!

One night, sometime in March or April I went to bed after receiving the sweetest, high pitched “Good night Mommy, I love you” from my best fella (the Mud Puddle).

The next morning I woke up greeted by James Earl Jones: “Good morning Mother. I hope your rest was pleasant.”

SAY WHAT? How do you go to bed a boy with a high pitched voice and wake up this man-child hybrid with a deep (albeit cracky with an occasional goose honk) baritone? All these months later I still glance over when he is saying something to make sure it is in fact him speaking. I am not quite used to the manly tone his voice has taken on.

I had ASSUMED that such things take place over a course of months. I ASSUMED a la Peter Brady that he would squeak and squawk and there would be ‘time to change’ and I could ‘rearrange’ my emotions about impending teenage-dom over the course of time. Not literally (please note the correct use of that oft mishandled word) overnight.

Not only did his vocal chords move to adulthood the Mud Puddle in general now resembles a teenager. Not a tween, not a 12 year old on the verge of teenville but like a proper 14 year old. He is at least an inch taller than me and his sweet little face has elongated and changed so quickly it is jarring sometimes to realize just how quickly puberty showed up and set up camp.

And before you are all “Oh Kris, you are so melodramatic. How does Scott live with you?” (No seriously, I get asked that question A LOT. Usually with a follow up: “poor Scott”. Pffft) I have photographic evidence that he went from boy to almost-grown-ass man quickly.

The Mud Puddle with his favorite Summer Theater Camp Counselor July 2014:

And with the same favorite Summer Theater Camp Counselor July 2015:

 

 

See?? I am not making this up. The camp counselor looks slightly older (an appropriate aging if you will) but the MP is a changed fella.

You can assume that is not the same green t-shirt in both pictures as he has gone from a Men’s Small to a Men’s Large in the last year.

I think we should set up a parental warning system: All parents of 10-12 year olds will be registered. And when the rapid development of children from “I can still see a little bit of baby” to “Almost too old to star on 90210” is upon us we get at least a month’s head up to prepare.  Emotionally obviously but logistically too.

There’s deodorant to be purchased, shower schedules to rearrange, new clothes, face wash, hair gel to procure. I just went ahead and updated the ½ bath en suite as my days in the main bathroom appear to be over.

And you might as well come up with a list of responses for when the hormones kick in and the sass comes out. My current favorites are: “I assume you didn’t mean to use that tone when speaking to your mother.”, “Excuse me? Do you want to rephrase that?” and the oldy but a goody (even though it turns out he was not a lovable 80s sitcom patriarch but a serial rapist…allegedly) “I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it.”

The good news is it is not only his physical appearance that has matured. He has started paying attention to politics and world news (like BBC World News, not that weather report and celebrity gossip that passes for news in the US of A).

He has an opinion on the Iranian Nuclear agreement, the genocide in Syria and an understanding of 8 of the Republican presidential candidates and where they stand on the issues. Sure, most of his opinions are shaped by our opinions but he pays attention and asks questions.

He also has a new found appreciation for Stephen King. Which is brilliant. I have an entire bookshelf filled with Stephen King books. The one flaw in this new found common interest is that when Mr. King has written something the MP doesn’t like he gets mad at me. It is somehow my fault that when Stevie wrote about the tragic fate (34 year old SPOILER) of Tad Trenton in “Cujo”. Or the ending of “Carrie” was someone my diabolical plan to make him care about a character and then pull the rug out from underneath him.

His favorite exclamation in both cases “I can’t believe you let me read that!” To which I responded, “Okay no more Stephen King books for you. Do you want me to pick you up some Harry Potter?” Um no, was the answer. No Harry Potter. So his love of my favorite author continues.

There are some things I do draw the line on: No Rated R movies, no explanations of strange adult terms, no dirty limericks. I usually ward off such requests for information with a “I’ll tell you when you are 15.”

I am fairly certain he has a notebook under his pillow where he writes all of those instances down. I might as well ask for September 14, 2017 as a personal day as I will probably have a lot of explaining to do.