;)
Sunday
Jun282009
They're Getting To Big To Cuddle, Or Jamie Foxx Can Kiss My Grits
Sunday, June 28, 2009 at 2:09AM
We sat together on the porch the other night, my husband and I, and under starry skies Mr Rationally Unemotional gazed squarely into the eyes of Ms. Happy Go Medicated and asked, "When exactly did they grow up? I mean, really; it wasn't supposed to happen this fast." And all I could muster in reply was, "I dunno, but I think it was a while ago."
Earlier that day, I'd called one of 2of3's buddies who was rumoured to be having a pool party, and after confirming with the boys mother that it was all a big big fake fake lie, she told me about a letter she'd found in her son's room. It was a letter that 2of3 had written to the girl he has a crush on, and she asked if she could read it to me, on the condition that I never tell him she had. Um, of course? Hit me, yo.
He said (and I'm more or less quoting here) that he needed to tell her how he felt, which was that he loved her, and that loving her meant that when he sees her, it's as though he's seeing an angel and when he's near her, it's as though he's close to heaven. And, of course, that if she liked him back, he'd like it if she wrote him back.
Holy poet, Batman. Not bad for nine, I'd say. But when did he learn those sorts of analogies? When did he learn to feel so strongly for another person? When did he learn how to write?
We all say things like Oh, It Goes So Fast and It'll Be Over Before We Know It but then one day something smacks you upside the head like your child being able to effectively woo and it's different from the first words or steps or loose teeth because there isn't one stinking pediatrician in the world with a chart that graphs the proper ages for sonnet-writing and zombie-movie-appreciation and cursing-in-context and breakouts. It's just stuff you never, ever see coming and when it does come, they're doing everything in their power to hide that shit from you. Because once they become independent people, internally, they don't exactly take a minute and say, "You know what, mom? You've been awesome, and really...thanks for the womb rental, it was totally cozy in there, but I think it's time for us to go our separate ways. Except, could you maybe still wash my colors and make me an occasional casserole? I'll be sure to hug you once in a while and maybe throw you the random bone in return. Speaking of which, I'm the lead in the school play. Tomorrow."
They don't tell you this because they know you'll be all, "Dude? What the barnacles? You know I was on set crew for years in high school, right? Can I help you run your lines tonight? Do you need a costume? Is it a romantic lead? Do you KISS A GIRL?" How's the set? Do you need me to run up there with my hot glue gun and some foam core..." and then they'll have to look you in the eyes and say, "Woman, you are so totally missing the point of this conversation" and then you'll start to cry a little at the unfairness of the whole thing and no one wants to see their mother cry so instead, they just sit silently in the front seat of the car with their cap pulled all the way down over their eyes and their shoulders so hunched in together, you wonder if someone hadn't installed hinges on their spine when you weren't looking and they save themselves a whole lot of headache.
And you never, ever know they've grown up, until they have. Or until you send them outside to clean the car one fine Saturday morning.
And as they clean the car, they ask for the keys which they properly get into the ignition just enough to turn on that radio station, the one your mother hated you listening to when you were little, and they sing along to all their favorite songs while they work and you listen. You listen, and you remember sitting in your room, waiting for Dick Clark* to announce the next track, which was some amazingly crafted piece of music that was clever and important and relevant, like The Humpty Dance, and so you let them have their moment. You've, of course, already had the talk with them about that Britney girl, and how though you aren't one to censor their music, that tramp just can never come into your home in any fashion. They've asked why and you've asked them to quote the hook in her newest single and they've said, "But all the boys and all the girls are dying to, If U Seek Amy" and you've asked them what If U Seek Amy spells and even let them say the word, because you've learned that when you're trying to make A Crucial Parenting Point, a properly-placed f-bomb tends to make or break the argument. And when they sheepishly say Fuck, because they're not entirely sure this isn't a trap, and then you ask them what Fuck means and they really just don't know, so you tell them it means sex and that means that a young woman is singing into the radio that all the boys and all the girls are dying to have sex with her, they get it. They instantly hate that song and that girl because they're still just young enough to not want to have sex with anyone yet, and thank you Jebus for that.
So you listen, knowing that they'll change it if they feel they have to, and then Jamie Foxx's new single comes on the station and you grind your teeth into dust because he's not saying anything awful that you can make out, he's doesn't seem to be swearing or talking down on women and he's not screaming Fuck The Police just like your favorite group at their age did, so you feel like you've got to let this one slide even though your nine year old whom you've just realized is in L.O.V.E. is bopping around, scrubbing the wheel-wells with his still-just-a-little-pugdy fingers, singing Blame it on the vodka, blame it on the henny. Blame it on the blue tap got you feeling dizzy. Blame it on the ah-ah-ah-alcohol, blame it on the ah-ah ah-ah ah-al-co-hol. And then you're all, Ooooh, that's when they grew up, when they started listening to the fucking Peak.
And when they're done, you have them inside with their four best tweenaged friends and the six of them watch The Sixth Sense, and you kind of smile a little because you realize you've reached the point where they can not only enjoy more intelligent, sophisticated and complicated things in life, but they can effectively filter out f-bombs in movies, which means the ensuing Summer of M. Night Shymalan is going to be so much more bearable than the previous Summer Of Home Alone was, and just when you're feeling pretty damn good about them growing up, you sit down to write a blog post about it and you google the lyrics to Jaime Foxx's newest single and then you have a heart attack and fucking die dead in your chair and then you decide that you all are moving back to Dutch Pennsylvania which is really close to where you grew up and were nobody so much as thinks what that man has throngs of children across North America belting out in their suburban driveways on chore day under cumulus clouds.
*For all you youngin's out there, Dick Clark is an evil, undead zombie vampire who, once upon a time, found the perfect genome for human cloning and his very first lab test resulted in evil personified. AND SQUARED. I believe it's commonly known as Ryan Seacrest these days.
Earlier that day, I'd called one of 2of3's buddies who was rumoured to be having a pool party, and after confirming with the boys mother that it was all a big big fake fake lie, she told me about a letter she'd found in her son's room. It was a letter that 2of3 had written to the girl he has a crush on, and she asked if she could read it to me, on the condition that I never tell him she had. Um, of course? Hit me, yo.
He said (and I'm more or less quoting here) that he needed to tell her how he felt, which was that he loved her, and that loving her meant that when he sees her, it's as though he's seeing an angel and when he's near her, it's as though he's close to heaven. And, of course, that if she liked him back, he'd like it if she wrote him back.
Holy poet, Batman. Not bad for nine, I'd say. But when did he learn those sorts of analogies? When did he learn to feel so strongly for another person? When did he learn how to write?
We all say things like Oh, It Goes So Fast and It'll Be Over Before We Know It but then one day something smacks you upside the head like your child being able to effectively woo and it's different from the first words or steps or loose teeth because there isn't one stinking pediatrician in the world with a chart that graphs the proper ages for sonnet-writing and zombie-movie-appreciation and cursing-in-context and breakouts. It's just stuff you never, ever see coming and when it does come, they're doing everything in their power to hide that shit from you. Because once they become independent people, internally, they don't exactly take a minute and say, "You know what, mom? You've been awesome, and really...thanks for the womb rental, it was totally cozy in there, but I think it's time for us to go our separate ways. Except, could you maybe still wash my colors and make me an occasional casserole? I'll be sure to hug you once in a while and maybe throw you the random bone in return. Speaking of which, I'm the lead in the school play. Tomorrow."
They don't tell you this because they know you'll be all, "Dude? What the barnacles? You know I was on set crew for years in high school, right? Can I help you run your lines tonight? Do you need a costume? Is it a romantic lead? Do you KISS A GIRL?" How's the set? Do you need me to run up there with my hot glue gun and some foam core..." and then they'll have to look you in the eyes and say, "Woman, you are so totally missing the point of this conversation" and then you'll start to cry a little at the unfairness of the whole thing and no one wants to see their mother cry so instead, they just sit silently in the front seat of the car with their cap pulled all the way down over their eyes and their shoulders so hunched in together, you wonder if someone hadn't installed hinges on their spine when you weren't looking and they save themselves a whole lot of headache.
And you never, ever know they've grown up, until they have. Or until you send them outside to clean the car one fine Saturday morning.
And as they clean the car, they ask for the keys which they properly get into the ignition just enough to turn on that radio station, the one your mother hated you listening to when you were little, and they sing along to all their favorite songs while they work and you listen. You listen, and you remember sitting in your room, waiting for Dick Clark* to announce the next track, which was some amazingly crafted piece of music that was clever and important and relevant, like The Humpty Dance, and so you let them have their moment. You've, of course, already had the talk with them about that Britney girl, and how though you aren't one to censor their music, that tramp just can never come into your home in any fashion. They've asked why and you've asked them to quote the hook in her newest single and they've said, "But all the boys and all the girls are dying to, If U Seek Amy" and you've asked them what If U Seek Amy spells and even let them say the word, because you've learned that when you're trying to make A Crucial Parenting Point, a properly-placed f-bomb tends to make or break the argument. And when they sheepishly say Fuck, because they're not entirely sure this isn't a trap, and then you ask them what Fuck means and they really just don't know, so you tell them it means sex and that means that a young woman is singing into the radio that all the boys and all the girls are dying to have sex with her, they get it. They instantly hate that song and that girl because they're still just young enough to not want to have sex with anyone yet, and thank you Jebus for that.
So you listen, knowing that they'll change it if they feel they have to, and then Jamie Foxx's new single comes on the station and you grind your teeth into dust because he's not saying anything awful that you can make out, he's doesn't seem to be swearing or talking down on women and he's not screaming Fuck The Police just like your favorite group at their age did, so you feel like you've got to let this one slide even though your nine year old whom you've just realized is in L.O.V.E. is bopping around, scrubbing the wheel-wells with his still-just-a-little-pugdy fingers, singing Blame it on the vodka, blame it on the henny. Blame it on the blue tap got you feeling dizzy. Blame it on the ah-ah-ah-alcohol, blame it on the ah-ah ah-ah ah-al-co-hol. And then you're all, Ooooh, that's when they grew up, when they started listening to the fucking Peak.
And when they're done, you have them inside with their four best tweenaged friends and the six of them watch The Sixth Sense, and you kind of smile a little because you realize you've reached the point where they can not only enjoy more intelligent, sophisticated and complicated things in life, but they can effectively filter out f-bombs in movies, which means the ensuing Summer of M. Night Shymalan is going to be so much more bearable than the previous Summer Of Home Alone was, and just when you're feeling pretty damn good about them growing up, you sit down to write a blog post about it and you google the lyrics to Jaime Foxx's newest single and then you have a heart attack and fucking die dead in your chair and then you decide that you all are moving back to Dutch Pennsylvania which is really close to where you grew up and were nobody so much as thinks what that man has throngs of children across North America belting out in their suburban driveways on chore day under cumulus clouds.
*For all you youngin's out there, Dick Clark is an evil, undead zombie vampire who, once upon a time, found the perfect genome for human cloning and his very first lab test resulted in evil personified. AND SQUARED. I believe it's commonly known as Ryan Seacrest these days.
Reader Comments (71)
Off topic: "And the grasses will still be singing" is in reference to what?
I like the rhythm of this. I’m reliving my childhood. It will come as a complete surprise to you but I was a little flirty as a kid. What if your son grows up to be just like me? Remember the magnum? Ahmygoodness. I probably shouldn’t also mention I writing a song for a rock band in San Francisco entitled Talk Dirty to Me. My wife says, “What’s the title? You need to be writing hymns boy.”
Damn you, I just started grieving for my girls childhood all over again...
Holy shit I'm not ready for this growing up stuff...
Beautifully written, as always!
They're Getting To Big To Cuddle, Or Jamie Foxx Can Kiss My Grits: They've asked why and you've aske.. http://bit.ly/f2vjS
They're Getting To Big To Cuddle, Or Jamie Foxx Can Kiss My Grits: They've asked why and you've aske.. http://bit.ly/f2vjS
I still don't say the word "fuck" in front of my parents. Can't imagine doing it at age 9!
I loved reading this, shannon, that's all.
As always, you said exactly what I think sometimes, only better. :)
Apparently I listen to the CBC too much, cuz I totally hadn't picked up on those Brit lyrics, even though I have heard the song before. Obviously when my kids get older I'll have to pay closer attention. Sheesh.
The teenager is beyond Britney and the boys are still into Imagination Movers and Xmen, so I'm in haitus right now.
My revelation moment? When I casually asked my daughter about her string bracelets her friends made for her. Out of curiosity. I had been told by another parent that the "kids these days" (12-13 year olds at the time, so 2-3 years ago), were wearing colored string bracelets to show how far they had gone with a boy and how far they were willing to go. Each color represented something. I think I asked her just to see if her response indicated she had heard this too. I'm not quite sure what I expected but it wasn't a "Geez Mom, you think I've been giving blow jobs or something?"
To paraphrase you, Mr. Lady....Holy did you just say those words outloud in front of your mother, Batman? At age 13? Or any age, for that matter?
Why yes, yes she did. And I swallowed all fear and continued the conversation. To the best that I could.
If U Seek Amy? Never heard that one before. Have to share it with my wife, whose name happens to coincide with that phrase.
And holy crap, what big feelings from a nine year old! Aren't girls supposed to be icky at that age? Yeah I know, there was always at least one boy in the crowd that didn't think so when I was growing up. But, wow, he can express himself better than I can. Watch out with L'il Romeo there, he may be the one that gets married at nineteen and gives you seven grandkids. Or gets his heart broken a zillion times because girls are unable to reciprocate his feelings.
@Audubon Ron, that's a total, complete shock, Ron. *wink*
@Kelley @ Magnetoboldtoo, YOU ARE ALMOST DONE. Write that on a chalkboard 50 times.
@Nell, you will be. :)
@Elizabeth, sweet talker. :)
@Avitable, it makes them giggle real hard.
@Chris, thanks, Chris!
@Kori, yeah, I'm about to live in your world, and I am very, very afraid.
@Latte Mommy, <------- left a damn comment on my blog!!!
yeah ... and when i hear my baby (ok, she's almost 15 but give me a break, she's still my baby) singing along with lady gaga ("and when it comes to love, if it's not rough it isn't fun ...), i die a little.
ok, a LOT.
@Kristin, I think I would have died. As in, DIED.
@diamond dave, my 11 year old couldn't care less about girls, but the 9 year old? ALL OVER THAT SHIT. Yeah, he's going to have a billion broken hearts, poor guy.
@the planet of janet, A LOT. It makes you miss the Veggie Tales, dudn't it?
What a heartbreaker your kid is. Also, Humpty Dance? Hahahahahahahaha! *sighs* Takes me back.
Absolutely Brilliant. What you do with words is simply genius.
@anne nahm, I rely on you to giggle with me over these things; you know that, right?
@Seriously Distracted, awwww, shucks.
I'm touch with this emotion. NukeBoy1 has his first steady girlfriend, NukeBoy2 is discovering that girls are good for things other than hurling spitballs at and NukeGirl cursed for the first time yesterday and knew exactly what she was saying. My beard gets grayer by the day.
@NukeDad, you're totally hot grey, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Wow, I now realize that children will row up no matter what you do. And my parents must have been the most patient parents to let me listen to music with out censoring it.
I love this post. I just read the whole thing outloud to my husband, and he loved it too.
@Bobbi Janay, my mother censored EVERYTHING. She grossly underestimated our ability to buck the system. :)
@Heather Rose, you read THE WHOLE THING? I didn't even read the whole thing, and i'm pretty sure I wrote it. :)
Yup. He's patient with me like that. :-)
your kids blow my mind.
While we have a lot of Pennsylvania Dutch in the area, we also have Brittney and Jaime Foxx. It's an odd juxtaposition, really.
Gotta <3 'em while you can!
I love this. And am now intensely curious about my 10 year old's ability to woo. Hmmmm.
Mine is ADDICTED to Flo-Rider's "Low". I can't get it out of her head. She's 5. If she see's an apple she'll break out in song. "Apple Bottom Jeans, Boots with the fur...."
It's sad really. They do grow up all too soon.
Until now, I thought "if you seek amy" was a song about looking for a girl named Amy.
-.-
Umm. I love this, because my kids will never grow up like that. Ever.
And, wow, I had only heard that Britney song once, and my reaction was "what the hell is she rambling about now?" and half-listening. I did not catch the sex reference. I'm going to be awesome with teenagers someday, eh?
Forget the FUCK, we can't listen to that damn Britney song cuz she says "oo oo ee ee ah ah" or something equally intelligent.
Your boys constantly amaze and surprise me. I feel lots of broken hearts are in their near distant futures.
@FiveStarFriday - http://bit.ly/6l6vc
In the car today my 5 year old told me that I was the only girl he liked and that if the music was too loud, I was too old. IN THE SAME SENTENCE!
I'm not sure about that one, but I figure he'll be in my basement for the next 30 years, so I'll have PLENTY of time to figure him out.
@Mr Lady, I love the way you type my name - Ron. It feels so reverent. Tickles my wiggle.
Thanks to your googling abilities, that is the newest song that is BANNED from my house and car. It irritated me, just the quality, but I never bothered to pay attention to the lyrics. I'm pretty sure I died right along with you when I read them - and my 14yo is gonna be pissed when I tell him tomorrow that no way in hell is that shit playing in my house.
Uhm... does it make me a hypocrite that my new favorite CD is Nickelback - including the track "Somethin in Your Mouth" and "S.E.X."????
Stop the train, yo. I wanna just halt that train before this point in the ride...
Amazing writing, lady, as always.