Twelve

I am discovering that being the mother of a twelve year old is nearly as exciting and perplexing as being twelve was. Some days we are best friends- laughing at the same things, 'getting' the same jokes, trying the same spoonerisms. We both love to read and we abhor misspelled words. We are dedicated and loyal to a fault; we love the safety of our familiar routine. And then there are days when it feels like we are strangers- and I am not sure whether to get close or back off. Personal hygiene is pretty much inconsequential; but when Tony pours syrup on his pancakes, there will be an all out war whoop and a lecture on the sins of extravagance. Speed seems to be a malady to be avoided at all costs, and patience is a virtue reserved only for self. Oh, this passage into adolescence promises to be an interesting journey- bewildering, perhaps, but certainly not boring!

Josh with his birthday gift, a book he has coveted for a very long time... Backyard Ballistics by William Gurstelle. With three boys and one hubby who all love experimenting and explosions, I figure the best I can do is to give them a book with lots of safety advice (and then run for the house with my hands over my ears.)

Here Josh creates a Cincinnati Fire Kite. If it fails to fly, at least there's the satisfaction of having had a very appreciative and admiring audience.

In case you're thinking of taking a collection for new jeans, please don't. These have now been discarded and replaced.