13

A teenager lives in our house.

Writing that gives me a shiver.  Delight and dread.  Watching the transition from child to teen is thrilling.  Around here, that transition has been punctuated with eating, eating, more eating, and occasionally choosing to hang out with adults instead of running amuck with kids.

My sister called me and almost hung up when she heard an unrecognizable, deep voice.  That deep voice and his sudden growth (I'm tenaciously holding one inch over his head) caused him incredible frustration this summer.  We traveled to Connecticut to visit friends and family.  My kids were anticipating loads of squeezing and snuggles with their far flung cousins.  When my 2 year old niece saw Everett, she cried.  When he dared touch her, her lips curled and she wailed.  She adored the girls, tolerated Josiah, and warmed up to Elijah.  Everett...he was too much like a scary, unknown, man for her.  After a week of begging, she finally gave him the coveted hug.  She threw in a snotty kiss and walked away.  Everett, wiping his check, remarked, with a good natured smirk, "Well, that was slimier than I expected." 

I hesitate to make this statement.  But here goes...Thirteen is easier than I expected.  I have enjoyed Everett's company lately.  Loved it. Mostly.  I think he gets life more than ever before.  When I'm flustered, he sees it and gives me a hand.  He's independent in his school work, able to come to me for help or to discuss a point, but doesn't need me to nag him.  He still has his moments, don't dare try to interrupt him in the middle of a good read (or even a mediocre one).  He turns into a roaring lion.  Just like his dad.

But, I figured that guy out years ago.  Since the apple can't fall too far from the tree, I think I might have my 13 year old figured out too.

I might delete this post in a few years to avoid being called a liar.