There’s nothing like having an 11-year-old in the house to make you feel like a dork.
I can’t imagine what the teen years are going to bring.
Whereas Ben used to laugh at some of the goofy suggestions I would make in fun, now everything is just … not cool.
He’s got a very, very strong interest in a sixth-grade girl at school and they talk regularly in person and on their iPods. Ben was talking about a conversation they were having and I told him, “You should tell her about ______.”
“Ah, no,” was all he said.
And things that once didn’t matter so much to him — clothing, hair — matter greatly.
The other morning he got part of his breakfast on his pants so I helped him wash it off so he could still wear them to school. He, of course, didn’t want to wear wet pants (damp is more like it) so he got out the hair dryer to help the process along.
Only instead of drying them, he ended up putting the metal in the hair dryer on top of the athletic pants and burning a small hole right in the crotch area. The emphasis is on small hole in a spot where others can’t see because his shirt is long enough to cover.
A year ago, that wouldn’t have mattered. But not any more.
Wearing pants like that and having the potential of someone knowing he had a pin-sized hole in them is not OK, not cool.
I probably should have known that.