Tuesday, January 12, 2010

My nine-year old son shrugged my arm off his shoulders with a glare as we walked to the bus stop. We weren't at the bus stop, mind you, just walking down the street, with no one else in sight. I get it. It's how he prepares to leave home and take on the ferocious responsibilities of his day—recess, lunch, being a student, a friend and, above all, cool. Fourth grade is hardly fun and games. The kids are no longer sheltered by their "little kid" dazzle with the world; they've begun to see the bigger picture and recognize the power of the social pecking order, jockeying for their places like half crazed bumper car drivers. The refinements have yet to come.

It's hard to be successful out there and not question your status as mama's boy. Adam said as much the other night when I took a chance and gently lamented the loss of the little boy who'd cuddle up to me on the couch without a second thought. He thought for a moment and said, "I sort of wish I could go back, too."


  1. That's so sweet and poignant. I teach third graders and every day I see them waver back and forth between little kid and big kid.

  2. Hi Katherine;
    Thanks so much for your comments. I have neglected this blog but intend to post much more regularly from now on. And I can definitely relate to so almost everything (fashionista I am not, to my daughter's dismay) you wrote about yourself, dogs and all. I think your drawings are beautiful and, as a teacher of young children, you have my everlasting respect!

  3. Such a sweet anecdote, it made me get a little misty sitting here at my table in Chicago, where I am taking advantage of the free WiFi that comes with the price of a coffee at a local cafe.