~I've been here before; you'd think I'd have been more prepared.~
Eleven is sweetness and hugs and still calling me "mama" in front of his friends.
Eleven is sharpness of tongue and rolling of eyes with indignant exclamations over the unfairness of having to change his shirt after 24 hours of use.
Eleven is lengthening arms and legs and joints that seem to have a life of their own; appearing seemingly overnight, because JUST LAST WEEK I was cradling a toddler in the glider, singing him to sleep.
Eleven is hormones and growth spurts and tall girls and short boys and liking girls but not wanting to talk about it; Eleven is becoming embarrassed if pushed to talk about "her" name.
Eleven is riding your bike for hours without your mom knowing where you are... and that's ok.
Eleven is still using imagination in play.
Eleven is exciting and thrilling and awesome.
Eleven is scary and dangerous and edgy.
Eleven is mood swings and angry spurts and realizations about Life and The World.
Eleven is HARD. So freaking hard. Stuck between little boy and teenager, these tween years are a time of living with a foot in each stage. Watching him teeter and sway is heart-wrenching. Seeing the struggle that is natural and necessary to become an adult makes me misty for him; though it IS normal, that doesn't make it any easier for his own heart.
Poetry Month in our Homeschool - Sure, you *can *force a kid to read a book. Any book, actually. But you *can't* force a child to love to read. You can't push and push literature on them a...
3 years ago