When racking my brains to figure out what to write about in this little ramble of mine, I usually try to hit upon the most relevant topic or event of the week. Like all families, we have our slow times, when things are just routine, moving along as they normally do (here at Team WestEnders, we tend to call those "soccer off-season"), and there's not really much "news of note", if you will. Right now we're experiencing one of those lulls, after the Thanksgiving holiday, and right before the full Yule-and-Whatnot season kicks into high gear. So while I don't have a big funny anecdote or deeply meaningful episode to share, it wasn't difficult at all to decide on today's subject matter...because THIS just happened:
Okay, I hear ya--so what? That's Riley...and you...aaannnnd...the fireplace...some decorations...are we missing something, here? I can practically see you scratching you heads (Yep, I'm just that intuitive) so I'll give you a wee hint. Here we are a just one short (Ha! Sorry...) year ago:
Now do you see where I'm going with this? I can even remember joking, last Christmas when we took this photo for the greeting card, that it was most likely the final one in which I would NOT be the...most...er..."height-challenged"...person in the house. Oh, well...it's official...the 12-year old has outgrown me (but only in the physical sense, of course. Thank goodness he still needs his Mommy...um, "mother").
I mean, it's not like this is a total shock, or anything. When I had boy children, I knew that one day they'd tower over me, as is the...Natural Order...and stuff. I just somehow had this delusion--to which I clung for as looooong as possible--that they would be in high school before having that inevitable growth spurt that shot them toward their adult size. Uh-huh...guess how old Derek was when he sprouted? That's right, between the ages of 12 and 13, he stretched 7 inches. So really, ever since his birthday in August, Riley has been gleefully awaiting his own...personal invitation to puberty.
First, we noticed that his hands and feet dwarfed mine. (This was obvious due to the fact that he wears goalie gloves for soccer, and, you know, runs through his shoes ever couple of months and requires new ones. And by the way, ever seen a cute little puppy, with enormous paws? You just know it's gonna grow into those suckers one day, right? Yeah, same concept. Just...slightly less fur...) And then, suddenly, it happened. I swear, last week I could still look at the top of his head. Those days are obviously O-V-E-R. Now he's gazing up at his brother, going "Watch out--you're next, dude." I can hear the wheels turning in Riley's brain, recalling all the times his older sibling has used his superior size and strength to evade/detain/pummel him. And I sense some epic payback coming, not too far down the road.
As for me, I'm just going to stay the heck out of the way of that nonsense...except when I need to step in and issue a Parental Decree: take it outside, boys! After all, no matter how much height and weight advantage they might eventually have over me, they will still have to abide by the--okay, not Golden Rule...maybe Bronze?--Mom Always Wins. Also the lesser-known but equally-important: Don't Call Me Shorty. Hmm...perhaps I'd best give them both a quick refresher on these salient points tomorrow, just in case they've forgotten. I'll stand on a chair....siiiiiiigh.....