Darling is 9, and just started 4th grade. She has a wickedly sophisticated sense of humor, with sarcasm and wordplay taking center stage. I've had to start asking her if she's joking me, because it SEEMS like a joke, but I'm still not used to such mature humor coming from this child of my body. She is my gardening buddy, exclaiming with excitement every time she finds another vegetable ripening on the plant or vine. The enthusiasm she has for growing our own food makes me enjoy the work too. That's a remarkable skill, given how much I hate weeding. She loves jamming to pop music, some of which I adore right along with her, and some of which leaves me cringing. (1D, really?) I hope that I never forget the joy singing "Royals" by Lorde and "Brave" by Sara Bareilles at the top of our lungs together. She's more aware of boys, and I try to not laugh at some of the crushes she'll admit to me. I'd rather have open discussions about what she's interested in - even if it's boys. It's a true thing that parenting teenagers starts with parenting 9 year olds. She is my thinker, who needs time to herself in order to process events. My prayer for her is that she continues to practice speaking up for her needs, even if what she needs means someone else might be sad. Darling, you can't always please everyone, but you will always please me, just by being in the world.
Hugbug will be 7 in a matter of days now. He routinely surprises me with his vocabulary, and I don't know why I'm surprised because his sister did (and does) the same. Recent gems include taunting a kid at the camp playground with "Can you even say antidisestablismentarianism?", schooling me on the meaning of "frenemy," explaining that "buffoon" is an insult, and telling me what's happening in the "epic novel" that he's reading. He believes in Santa, even though I don't do Santa as a parent, and have told him it's just a story. He's still firmly convinced I'm mistaken and Santa is REAL. He opens doors for ladies. He has an entourage of guys that he has to hug in order to fall asleep. He wants to be a prince when he grows up. Which means he'll have to marry a princess, but isn't sure she'll be willing to travel so very far to meet him because long trips are boring. This boy... he is the best boy. My prayer for him is that he can ignore the stupid cultural programming that says boys aren't sensitive, or loving, or demonstrative, and will still be the sweet, kind, funny, imaginative guy he is now. Hugbug, keep your loving heart just the way it is.
That is an imperfect description of my babies - who are no longer babies, but turning into interesting, charming, wonderful people. I'm so lucky to be their mom.
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