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Young Love

I brought Sam last week for his pre-K check-up.  A nurse came in and asked a few questions and then took him down the hall to weigh and measure him.  For some reason I remained in my chair staring blankly ahead, thinking it was just yesterday that I neurotically carried my baby down the hall to be weighed and measured, hovering over the nurses with my record book, jotting down every ounce and inch.  I would peer at the growth chart, thrilled to find that both of my children were both “off the charts” for height. 

But were they gaining enough weight?  Was their head too big? For a while there, Sam was 80 percent for height, 80 percent for weight and teetering dangerously…. and then completely fell “off the charts” for head size. 

It was bad enough he was in the 250th percentile for head size, but we were mostly sad that no hats would fit him….

Fast forward 5 years, Sam’s head is back in the “normal” range, I don’t even know where that little record book is, and the only way I know that my kids grow at all is if I have to go buy them new clothes.

I sat calmly waiting for their return.

“He’s 55 pounds!” the nurse said excitedly as Sam climbed onto the crinkly exam paper on the table.

“And he’s in the 90th percentile for height!”

Sam sat up tall, beaming with pride, wearing only underwear, with his tan little legs stretched out in front of him on the table.

The nurse promised the doctor would be in soon and left the room.

We sat in silence for a minute and Sam looked down at his legs.

He looked up at me stone-faced and sighed. “Well….I guess I am turning into a man.”

I laughed, “Why? Because you are growing?”

“Nope,” he said pointing to his legs, “it’s because of all this hair.”

I got up and peered at his legs and doubled over in laughter.  Although it was all bleached from the summer sun, the hair on his legs could potentially rival Mr. Gaga’s.

As kindergarten approaches, even the mere thought of Sam leaving on the bus gives me a lump in my throat.  At this announcement of manhood, my first instinct was throw myself on top of him and start weeping, but just then the doctor walked in.  I composed myself.

Even though in this particular instance, Sam’s just a hairy Italian boy, the fact remains that my boys are growing up before my eyes.

As the summer comes to an end, they seem so much older than they were just a few short months ago.  They have this habit of acting like teenagers now, often choosing to “hang out on the boardwalk” at our beach instead of staying with me.  Also, with this new maturity comes an interest in girls, (THEY ARE 5 and 6!)

The other day after they had been up on the boardwalk for a long time, I walked up to check on them.

“What are you guys doing?” I asked them and their friend, Adrian.

“We can’t tell you.” Michael answered quickly for the boys that were staring at me like deer in headlights.

“Why not?” I asked with my hands on my hips.

“It’s inna-poopiate,” Sam said in a hushed voice with his eyes wide open.

I turned my focus back to Michael, “Ok, then now you better tell me.”

“Mom, it’s just super-heroes,” Michael said with exasperation.


“And Sam and Adrian are Batman and Iron Man and they are pretending they are going to marry Storm and Poison Ivy,” he looked at me expectantly.

“Ok.” I answered waiting for more.

“But I am Green Lantern, and I am going to swoop in and save them from the weddings.” he said knowingly.

“Oh, because they don’t really want to get married?” I asked.

“Yes, the girls are making them.” he answered nodding his head.

“Ok, carry on then.” I said turning back to the beach.  It’s a bit early for a game about how to avoid a committed relationship, but at least they weren’t getting into any trouble.

I shrugged it off.

Then later in the week I left my notebook out on the table and Michael was doodling in it.

I found this:

Ok – maybe these boys might be a little girl crazy.

No worries though – I destroyed it just in case Mr. Gaga got any ideas……


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