I wrote cheques for yearbooks today, following cheques written for field trips, school supplies and the dentist. We didn't order yearbooks last year, since the kids had only been in their new school for a couple of weeks when the order forms came home.
Now they are firmly entrenched: band, track & field, floor hockey, french club, and fistfights in the schoolyard at lunchtime (well, Henry anyway, but the good (okay, well not so good) part is he took the punch. He did not throw the punch. I know, surprise!). They eat pears while they mentor the younger grades and they plan afternoons at friends' homes without asking first, leaving me scrambling to find addresses, moms and good pick-up times. They have learned chess, and not just basic chess but kick-ass chess. They have worked their way through all of the clothes we bought in the fall, every bottle of sunscreen and band-aid in the house and all of the food the boys didn't finish yet. I can no longer keep up. With anything.
Suddenly classmate crushes, puberty, Katy Perry and Warcraft have replaced Bugs Bunny, Lego and the biggest thrill in life being fresh blueberry muffins when they get home from school. They regularly steal any headphones they can find and disappear with our devices to listen to music on Youtube. Thank God for 6gb data plans.
Who in the hell are these teenagers and what have they done with my children?
They want me to watch TV with them but leave them alone too. They don't want to be nagged to check for cars or to wear their jackets. They want to go up the hill for slices of pizza or candy at the store but they don't want me along (yes). They want to watch the Saw movies (no). They want to ride bikes in the rain but they don't want to walk the dog or put away their laundry or set the table. They still want their allowance for the chores they don't do, and they want to spend it the moment we step inside the doors of the shopping center. On junk. Chocolate bars, video games, Hello Kitty stuffed toys.
They are all over the place with feelings, fashion and personality and every now and then I get a glimpse of the younger child they used to be along with a preview of the adult they will be in the not-so-distant-any-longer future. It's exciting and a little scary and a wonderful welcome distraction for all of us.
It's really weird too. I keep looking at them and seeing how violently different their lives are from mine when I was that age, and I thank my lucky stars that we are in this place where their biggest complaints are that they have nothing to do.
They are typical. Healthy, privileged, stimulated, active, responsible, caring and adventurous too. Everything I wanted, everything I could have hoped for and more.
(I know you must be so irritated that I'm not currently telling you anything remotely dramatic. Kiss my ass.)
