and when you're wise enough, you'll know...
My oldest son's voice drifts toward me from the back of the minivan as we venture out on yet another journey to his friend's house a few miles away.
"Hmmm?" I hum, clicking pause on the iPod to snuff out Katy Perry's tribute to California girls.
"How will I know when I've finally been struck by puberty?" he asks.
Before the invisible dot can be hung at the bottom of his question mark, my mind races through all the signs that have been springing up like billboards around me to signal my son's arrival at this most magically awkward time in life.
That voice that's just queried me. The one that seems deeper today than the day before.
The time spent traversing to and from the bathroom to ponder the state of his lengthening hair.
Speaking of lengthening, how about those showers, huh? The quick "Did you really, really take a shower?" showers have been replaced and now force us to yell things like "Water doesn't grow on trees, you know!" to get him to finally shut it down.
The golden downy fuzz I've noticed starting to tickle his upper lip.
His realization that he now kinda sorta (his words, not mine) thinks girls are far more interesting for far more reasons than he did a few short months (perhaps weeks) ago.
My realization that the person plugged into his cell phone contact list as 'T-Rex' who clogs many of the entries in the 'calls made' and 'calls received' categories is in fact a girl and neither a boy whose name starts with the letter T who thinks he's super cool nor a real tyrannosaurus Rex, which WOULD be super cool, but also seemingly impossible thanks to said species incredibly short arm-to-ear reach.
The musky scent of Old Spice deodorant that hits me in the face each time I pass his bedroom. It comes from the sample-size stick he's waited patiently to use since receiving it during his fifth grade puberty class and seems to crash forcibly against the impenetrable wall of generally odd odors boys just seem to put out.
All the time spent in front of the bathroom mirror flexing his muscles and admiring his, and I quote, six-pack like he's The Situation. Of course, this time of worship only happens when he's finally given up pushing his bangs back and forth in an unrelenting quest to achieve the perfect style.
I glance in the rear view mirror and smile as I catch sight of him waiting for my response.
"Oh, honey...I'm pretty sure you'll feel the sting when puberty ups and smacks you one."
Labels: guess we have to get used to it