Archive for the ‘Boy Wonder’ Category

The last of the lilacs — on Boy Wonder’s window.

 

I spent the greater part of this afternoon helping Boy Wonder prepositionally clean his bedroom. Beneath his bed, inside his closet, on top of his computer hutch, under his rug—if it could be cleaned, we did it. He did the 3 weeks of laundry he’d neglected; which really means the 3 weeks of laundry I neglected to nag him to do. He’s 12. So, I feel like it’s a victory that he actually knows how to use the washer and dryer and most of his dirty clothes end up in a hamper, not under his bed. But if I don’t remind him, “Hey! It’s laundry day, get on it. And by on it, I mean now!” it’s not happening.  For the past three weeks I’ve been preoccupied and after seeing him in the same shirt for several days, I took a peek into his closet and declared today a Prepositional Cleaning Day. There’s a reason I buy underwear and socks by the dozens!

It’s amazing sifting through the things he keeps. The things he fishes out of the trash bag, “Hey! That’s tech. I can use that someday!” The mounds of rocks collected on all our vacations, the boxes of legos he still uses to test inventions, the shoe box full of packaging material, “I love that box, Mom! Those bubble sheets make me happy.” His interests have shifted with time, but he’s not ready to let the past go. Not just yet. Next to his 7 year old obsession with Scoobie Do mystery books are last year’s obsession, all the Harry Potter novels. And this year, it’s an alphabet soup of programming languages. Texts on Java, html, php and MySQL are stacked up with pages marked by crunchy papers with cryptic notes. He wrote the code for his first database last week. He just didn’t do his laundry.

In truth, I expect a unified theory of physics from him. Someday.  I just don’t expect him to keep his room clean. I know it’s the path of least resistance. I could yell, and rant, (and trust me, that is what it takes!) and watch him struggle with the process for six hours. Those days usually end with me declaring, “Well you better be one heck of an inventor and make lots of money, because finding a housekeeper willing to clean your mess doesn’t come cheap, Bubba!” Or, “NO WOMAN is ever going to marry you with a room like this. Think about that!” These are appeals that his 12 year old self is willing to ignore, no matter how right I might be.

But there is another option. One that requires less time and less yelling and less suffering. And sometimes, I have the clarity of mind to  choose it. This path, it is full of laughter and insight. Glimpses into this child of mine, this child who is growing up as quickly as he’s growing out of shoes and jeans and shirts. He is interesting and full of ideas. He is compassionate and loving and kind of funny, in a quirky irreverent way. It is a path full of gentle moments, sweet nagging and reminders—this is how you dust, remember to hang up that jacket, uh trash does not belong on your floor, I’m pretty sure I said only ONE water bottle in your room at a time, does Six look like ONE. . . gently, now. Gently.

“I forgot how much I like my room, Mom. I haven’t been this excited about it since I moved in. Thanks, Mom.”

As I placed the last of this year’s lilacs in his window, because he loves the smell of them as I do, I watch him. He’s already fast at work on something new—in a language I do not speak. 

Overheard at my house. . . 

 

Boy Wonder: “Mom, could you get Picasso ice cream?”

Me: “Picasso ice cream?”

Boy Wonder: “Yeah, you know, it has chocolate and cherries. . . ”

Me: “The one with pistachios?  I’m thinking you mean Spumoni.”

Boy Wonder: “Oh, right. Spumoni. That’s what I meant.”

It’s Valentine’s Day. Somehow, between numerous medical appointments this week, I managed to find a bit of time to secure a lovely bottle of Port for IZ and some small chocolate tokens for the boy. What I didn’t do, is remember to parent.

My child, bright and ridiculously advanced for his age in things like physics and computer science, has a little trouble with the time-space continuum. He is notorious for not knowing what day it is, or what month for that matter. And while he has a general grasp on seasons and holidays, I think that has more to do with his watching television than any sense of time.  Don’t ask him which direction north is either–despite the fact we live on a river that gives our geographic location away–he still can’t point to Washington State. And the child gives his father a run for his money in the time slippage department. In Boy Wonder speak, 1 minute has to the potential to turn into an hour and be followed with the exclamation, “I have not been in the shower for 35 minutes!” 

He gets this from his father. They are both completely clueless in the navigation department, unless they’re in Disneyland. Otherwise, neither one of them should be in charge of where we are. Or what time it is. Or be the keeper of the agenda, calender, or schedule.   

His father has learned to write things down. After forgetting to attend my surprise 18th birthday party, he’s vowed to never get caught in this position again. But for Boy Wonder to be so organized, he’d have to come up with some sort of reminder gizmo–and then keep up with it. I’ve seen the kid’s room. It’s not going to happen. 

So, it falls on me to remember to remind. To gently coax, “Hey, it’s almost Christmas, do you have something planned for your dad?” Or, “You know, you should really write a card to your Aunt, it’s her birthday next week.” 

And usually, I excel at this process. But somewhere in the midst of numerous medical appointments this week I forgot my number one priority as a parent, “Keep your budding astro-physicist grounded.”  Even when I had the chance last night, while hanging out in Safeway finding words to keep the shock value of gastroenterology at a minimum,  I missed my opportunity to avoid an emotional crisis. I kept saying, “You’re the kid, you don’t have to give us anything, ” and “Really, it’s our job at Valentine’s Day, not yours.” In all the chaos of the week, I failed to anticipate that he would feel terrible this morning not having something for us. I forgot that my child, just like his mother, suffers from an overdeveloped guilt complex.  Instead, I quipped, “If you really want to get me something, you could clean that bathroom of yours.”

Clearly, I’m not the Rocket Scientist in this family.

So, it’s Valentine’s Day. And with a stiff upper lip and a spray-bottle of Clorox, my child cleaned his bathroom this morning. But not before he handed his father and me this poem. 

 

Sad Valentines:

       At last the say has come, but I have nothing to give.

        Loudly my soul cries, but tears never reach

my   Eyes.

        Never have I failed you before,

        Today marks a first.

        I hope to compensate, I hope 

it     Never happens again.

inst Ead I give you two hugs, smiles, and kisses, and I will be sure to

       Soap my bathroom. 

 

My mother’s heart is breaking. But as his Language Arts teacher, I have to admit, I’m pretty impressed. 

Look who was hiding beneath all that hair.

I meant to take a “before” photo… but you can kinda get the feeling for just how long his hair was in the photo on the post below.

After his cut, I said, “Wow… I can finally see your face!”

His response, “Wow! I can finally SEE!”

Boy Wonder was asked by his father, the Science teacher,  to write out everything he wanted to learn this year. He compiled the following list:

• Wood chop
• electolrolisis (I do not mean electronics)
• chemistry
• lego robotics
• workout
• compute science
• java script
• lua script
• boo script
• apple script
• automator
• 3d modle desing
• electronics
• quantum mechanics
• algibra 1
• mechanics
• encryption
• more code
• bot desing

Tomorrow his mother, the Language Arts teacher, will be adding SPELLING to that list and fire proofing her home.

This child walked up, waved his hand in front of me, and said, “You will bake something yummy. Thank you.”

You know, it’s the strangest thing. . . but I kinda have an urge to bake something yummy.

The postman brought new shoes today. Silver Mary-Janes for me. Grey Sketchers for him. Both in the same size. He is only 11 and I’m not.

Yesterday, I got it into my head to bake Morning Glory Muffins. You remember these? They were all the rage in the 90’s. It seems like they’ve fallen out of fashion—or maybe it’s just where I live, but I don’t see them in bakeries quite as often as back in the day.

So two trips to the grocery store (there are a LOT of ingredients to forget!), several near misses during the mixing process (there are a LOT of ingredients to remember!), and one half empty can of crushed pineapple splattered across the floor and behind the refrigerator later (Sticky!) we ate some Morning Glory. Remarkably, it was still morning.

Speaking of eating. This child, this child won’t stop. He’s always hungry and I can’t keep up with his food demands. Where is he putting it all? Evidently, in inches UP! I just ordered jeans for the third time this year. Three sizes in 10 months, he’s now wearing a 14 slim and is showing no sign of slowing down.

It’s not just his jeans, though. I also got the shock of my life when trying to buy shoes for him to wear to the wedding (OMG!! two weeks, MARIE, are you freaking out??). Scrounging around in the kid’s department, we were striking out when it occurred to me if his jean size has exponentially grown, perhaps his feet were following suit.

Can we say heart-attack? This child wears a men’s 7. And that means, he has the same sized feet as me. He’s 11 and has already out-paced me. He’s running hard to catch up with his father. I don’t think he’s going to need the assist from age and gravity.

It’s a battle of wills, really. I keep willing him to slow down. But suggesting this to him gets no traction. He just looks at me with that twinkle in his eye—the same twinkle, for the record, that won me over when his father proposed—that screams, “Make me, lady!”

Give me back that muffin, kid!

I probably don’t have to tell you that I’m so not ready for this. It’s a glory to behold. Or it would be, if I could step back to watch it.