Random Unrelated Bits...

This weekend I went on another one of my "purge rampages", casting a critical eye around our house and mercilessly "designating for assignment" (the options for AAA or AA in this case being 'outright donation' or 'consignment shop') stuff that we don't need. Various small shelves; Derek's beanbag that he never sits in, but that acts as a depository for his clean laundry until he condescends to put it away; toys from phases in the boys' lives that have been outgrown--all items that have been perfectly useful, but aren't worth the bother of packing up, setting aside valuable real estate in a truck, driving to NC, unpacking, and figuring out where to use (or even if they'll fit) in a new home. (I swear, it's not like I wake up in the morning and think, "Let's run amok through the house, decluttering in a mad frenzy...it just sort of...happens...)

One of the first things I did was the seasonal-clothes-check, to determine what apparel Derek has outgrown that can be passed down to his brother....which turned out to be...most of his wardrobe. Sigh. This is par for the course, unfortunately, so we're somewhat used to it. But one thing that stuck out this time was a pair of dress pants (Size 16--this is crucial information) that I'm pretty sure I bought for Derek last year (age 12 being the other important reference point)...that fit Riley perfectly. Gulp. What this means to me is that my 10-year old is getting much MUCH too big, much MUCH too early. My tenure as..."not the shortest person in the family" is becoming scarcer practically by the day, I tell ya...

And while we're on the subject of "growing up too doggone quickly", we had a huuuuuuge event transpire this weekend: Derek's first shave. (I know, right: SERIOUSLY?) Husband took it upon himself to pick up an electric shaver on the way home from work Friday night, because Derek was becoming a bit self-conscious about the hairs on his upper lip. What followed was a detailed instructional session, conducted in the hall bathroom, about how to use the device. I mean, it was like a full-on YouTube how-to video, complete with the demonstration step, then the practice run...and continuous color and play-by-play commentary from Dad. All of this was naturally captured by Mom, crowded into the teensy-weensy space with them, camera held at the ready to capture the milestone moment. (Precious family memories...or future blackmail...mwah hah hah!!) Derek seemed quite pleased with the result, and I do have to admit that the absence of dark fuzz above his mouth was noticeable. Sniffle...yet another not-my-baby-anymore moment...

One final note on that topic: one day I went into Derek's room to ask him something, and happened to catch a glimpse of what he was engrossed in, on his phone. I'm used to seeing SportsCenter highlights, but oh, no, this was definitely not ESPN. I recognized the colorful, childishly-drawn cartoon characters instantly...my son was amusing himself by watching an episode of...South Park. Now, back in its heyday, when it was novel and cutting-edge and hilariously-subversive, (and wildly-inappropriate, did I mention that?) I used to watch it. That's right, me. Derek was astonished that I had recognized it so quickly and easily. He was also...horrified? bewildered? impressed? (Possibly all 3 to some extent...) that I knew precisely what was going on. (His cheeks turned several shades of pink--adorable...) I inquired how he had come across this particular...gem...and his simple answer was, "I have friends!" (Ahh, and to think I used to like those friends...)

I honestly wasn't sure how I felt about the situation, so I chose not to issue any kind of Motherly Decree until I'd had time to ponder...and consult Husband. When I shared the story with the other half of the ruling Parental Party, he was...decidedly unperturbed. Actually, his exact words were, "Eh, it's rude, stupid humor...perfect for teenage boys!" Huh. It didn't occur to me to consider it that way, but of course he's absolutely right. Furthermore, he came up with the following perfectly reasonable rules, which I speedily agreed to and imposed: 1) under no circumstances will you EVER show this to your younger brother; and 2) we will never hear, say, "Cartman language" (even the "bleeped" variety) issuing from your mouth. The next time I interrupted his viewing of the show, he asked if he was allowed to continue. "If you must," I noncommittally answered. "I don't have to, if you don't want me to," he replied. (Aww, that's my well-behaved boy--just allow me my delusions, okay?) But I relented, and relayed what his dad and I had discussed. The terms were accepted, and that closed the matter....at least until I discover he's into something worse...fingers crossed that I have a nice, long break before that happens! (Again with the happy state of oblivion...for as long as humanly possible...)