About the boys...

Our first episode concerns Riley...my little riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside a...goofball (since I mortified Will Shakespeare the other day, I figured butchering a Churchill quote seemed like a logical next step). Sometimes he's a typical 7-1/2 year-old boy, exhibiting an obnoxious fascination with potty humor (the word "weenie" being a current fave), as well as a tendency to interject random observations, then erupt into uncontrolled giggles without any warning. Case in point: Friday night we were all cozily snuggled on the couch, watching the Orioles' season-opener on TV. Manny Ramirez of the Tampa Bay Rays came to bat, and the announcers noted that he's 14th on the all-time homerun list with 555 dingers. Being a family of full-fledged (Husband and me) and budding (sons) Baseball Geeks, we reacted with astonishment and a flurry of color-commentary. Riley immediately chimed in with, "Who's number 1?" I answered, tentatively, "Bonds? I think?" Husband replied, "Isn't it still Hank Aaron, with 755?" Since I had my trusty laptop at hand anyway, I of course busily set to work looking it up. Apparently Riley continued to mull it over, because in the moment of silence that ensued before I had the correct answer, he abruptly, decisively stated, "Bonds is...FAT!" Which may or may not be relevant in any way, shape, or form, but it does neatly sum up our Family Policy on Barry Bonds and his--in our opinion--undeserved title of Homerun King (as he did, in fact, pass Hammerin' Hank...at least until they can prove he cheated, and he gets an asterisk, or wiped from the record altogether...fingers crossed.)

And other moments, he suddenly, shockingly, sounds older than his years. Another night, another baseball game, during which Riley had taken a break to go into the adjoining room and play his own imaginary contest (we could hear his play-by-play: "Oh, he hits a double off the wall, and the runner heads for home!"). When he wandered back in, he asked, "What's the score?" I answered, "2-2" at the same time that Husband piped up, "742 to 1 and-a-half!" Riley generally takes this kind of Dad-nonsense completely in stride, so he glanced at the TV screen himself to confirm. "Looks like Mom's right," he proclaimed (Well, DUH! The sooner he internalizes this critical fact of life, the better!). "Sometimes," Husband conceded. "Don't worry, you can rely on me, honey!" I added reassuringly. Riley said, very seriously, "Yeah, Dad's the Gooberhead, here...no offense!" (aww, how cute--already he's learned that catch phrase we adults use to mean "I'm going to insult you, but please don't get mad at me for it!")

Then we come to Derek, who presents the opposite conundrum: at times a maturing, pre-adolescent young man...but still my "baby" nevertheless. A deceptively-innocuous piece of paper came home from school a few days ago. Just a permission slip, like so many I've read and signed throughout Derek's 6 years of schooling. BUT...this one was asking me to allow my son to participate in the scariest thing a mother could imagine right now...no, not 5th-grade Bungee Jumping...even worse...the Family Life Unit!!! (cue Horror Movie screams--or was that just in my head when I read the page?) I swear my eyes teared up when I saw those words in black-and-white before me. My sweet little boy...is too young and innocent for this kind of thing! Right? I left the unsettling form on the kitchen table, intending to send it back sometime next week. At dinner that night, Derek inquired, "So, Mom, have you made a decision about this yet?" I told him I agreed to let him be involved in the instruction. Then, catching an uncertain tone in his voice, I asked, "What do you think about it?" I suspected maybe he had concerns, or doubts, or something he wanted to discuss beforehand. But his response was an offhand, "Well, I don't want to, necessarily--but I don't want to sit in Ms. W's class and do a special project, either." (That's my boy: practical to a fault!) Deciding to gently press him a little, I threw out, "Do you have any questions you want to ask Dad or me first?" And I got back the most nonchalant "Nah!" as he tucked into his dinner with gusto. Let me just say that, regarding all the human body and male/female relationship and reproductive issues: He has Never. Once. Asked. Anything. So I fear that the light-and-fluffy-sounding "Family Life" curriculum might turn out to be quite a bombshell for my guy.

I mean, c'mon, it was bad enough when we--as responsible parents, aiming to raise drug-free children who make informed, healthy choices--started feeling obligated to discuss Professional Athletes and Steroid Use...and now we've gotta do the Birds and the Bees, too? That just...sucks! No offense!