Dear Son #1,
On Sunday you turned 11-years-old. Phew. And the first thing you asked me was if you got a later bedtime now that you were 11. But considering your bedtime of 8:30 rarely actually gets met, I told you that 8:35 would suffice. Clearly frustrated by this answer, you went into negotiating mode. This is not something new for me, I’m pretty seasoned—so you got nowhere.
That night the lights went out at 8:48.
11, I have come to realize over the last week, is a tough, weird age. It’s a very “limbo” age where I know you’re not really a kid anymore, but you’re not a teenager either. And while you may be more mature than some adults I know, you’re definitely not there yet. It’s an age of learning, for both of us. You learning boundaries, hard lessons, and perfecting your negotiating skills. Me learning that I embarrass you without even trying, which has kind of taken the fun out of it for me.
This year you started grade 6, which for some reason, seems that much more of a leap than grade 5 was. You are now classified as a “middle schooler” as you remind me often. With this middle school status has come more privileges and more responsibility. I’m not just talking about being higher on the food chain at school or the coveted 8:35 bedtime either.
One such privilege is that you are now able to join the band at school. Oh goodie. For this, all students go through a list of approved instruments and pick the one they would like to play. You, without hesitation, picked the trombone—a very loud, very big instrument that should really belong in the zoo with the elephants. While I don’t know how much serious playing is happening, you are very much enjoying walking into a room and “tromboning” unexpected occupants. You can also play The Imperial March like a boss. Another privilege is that you now own your own Chromebook as a requirement for school. As parents, you need to understand that it was very difficult to purchase an 11-year-old such an expensive item, so while I know the lectures are getting annoying, they won’t be stopping anytime soon.
Another perk to turning 11 and entering the 6th grade is that you finally get to go to the youth group at church. Without your brothers. Does it get any better? Not only do you get to spend two hours a week with gross boys your own age but you get to eat candy, drink pop and generally be a nut, without your Mom breathing down your neck. With youth group you have been able to experience freedom and independence in a safe and wholesome environment. Thank you church for this, it is the best gift you can give to a not-a-kid-not-a-teen-not-an-adult. Not to mention to their parents.
Sadly, with privilege comes responsibility, what a downer. Don’t worry, it just goes downhill from here. School has become more homework, more projects, and more responsibilities. Home has become more chores, more expectations and more showers. Social has become more trying to fit in, more peer pressure and more uncertainty.
As your Mom, I’ve had to finagle a fine balance between giving you space and pushing back depending on the situation. Letting things go and not. Embarrassing you intentionally or accidentally. Your Oma once told me that you grow with your kids and that is very true and proven time and again over the last year.
While I can’t talk to you the same way I did a couple of years ago, when you were a kid, I also can’t talk to you like you’re a teen or an adult, because you’re not there yet. I can’t tell you exactly how I am feeling about your attitude and have to use phrases like “Adjust the attitude” or “Take some deep breaths” when all I really want to say is “Stop being a —-“.
I can’t just take you on my lap and make it better anymore. Mainly because you’re freaking heavy and have a bony butt, but because it just doesn’t fix things as well. But I can talk it out, hug it out, and cry it out.
I also can’t just solve the problems anymore for you, as much as I would want to. Instead I have to advise, encourage and sit back on the sidelines and hope for the best.
I’m sorry I’m not navigating this age perfectly with you. I wish I always had the right answer, the calm demeanour and the endless patience. But I don’t. So for now, let’s keep journeying down this weird road together. I promise I’ll always be there.
I’ll be there to walk you in somewhere if you’re nervous. I’ll be there to help you through a problem with a friend. I’ll be there to cheer your successes and help you hold your failures. I’ll be there to tell you to smarten up when you have an assignment due. I’ll be there to tell you to grow up or slow down, depending on the day. I’ll be there if you have a question about health class…heehee. I’ll be there to hug you when it’s not in public.
Kid. Teen. Adult. I’ll be there.
Happy Birthday Pieter Boy. I love you!
Love Mommy,
XOXO
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