Unlike my other teens past and present, Halfway Between (10 & 20) is not prone to dramatic outbursts.
At first, that seems like a blessing. But it also leaves me at a loss to figure out what is going on in there. At least with the others, I know exactly where I stand, even if it is usually in their way.
The other morning, he SET HIS ALARM (I know!) and woke himself to go say goodbye to a friend who is moving to another state.
(This "alarming" development will not stop me from coming into his room and singing, "OH! What a beautiful morning!" But at least now I know he has an adult skill under his belt. When he wears a belt.)
He returned a few hours later with a monotone greeting, "Hey mom."
"You okay, Pal? Are you sad?"
"Ah, a little. But there's always MySpace. . .and me and the guys are going to chip him in and buy him a plane ticket back down."
"The 'Mean guys?'"
"Sorry, Mother. . .'The Neighborhood Gentlemen and IIIIIII. . .'" Why does his proper English always have to be delivered with an English accent?
"Well, that's a good idea."
"And his Mom said I was welcome to come up and visit them any time."
"That's sweet. Do you want a hug?"
He looked at me as if I'd offered him a pink bow for his hair. The disappointment must have shown on my face, because he smiled and stretched out his arms. "Okay, Mom, if YOU need a hug. . ."
The truth is, I DID need a hug.
He may be six-feet-tall, but I know my little man is still in there somewhere.
1 week ago