and so it begins

It seems as though the nine year old that resides here has learned a new word.

He has informed me throughout the day that many of the things he did, just yesterday, are now “not mature”.

Amongst the list:

Spongebob – he just doesn’t get the adolescent humor of it anymore.

Spaghetti with cut up pasta – apparently it’s much more “mature” to lap at your food like a kitten thirsty for milk.

Bedtime stories – he’s now old enough to read on his own.

His little brother – the day has finally arrived. Bob thinks Bumpo is too much of a baby to play with. Especially when they’re outside together and his older, much cooler, friends are around.

Giving his mother a hug – at least in front of his friends, or at school, or anywhere in public. During those times, I don’t exist, except as his chauffer and ATM.


Yes, it is a sad, sad day indeed. My little boy is growing up. Luckily, the list of unacceptable's is still on the small side. As the years go on, he’ll find more and more things that are “immature” in his eyes.

For now, it just serves as a reminder to enjoy the little things I have left for as long as I possibly can.

Especially the goodnight hugs, the request for whooshes when I tuck him in, his trusty stuffed Ellie to sleep with at night, and more than anything, the fact that he still needs me, if only for a little while longer.