Boys
We had our fifth grade dance last week at the height of the last week of school frenzy that occurs in May each year. My youngest son was looking forward to the dance, even though he couldn’t ask the girl he has had a crush on since forever ( see Check Yes or Yes ). Several of his buddies were going too, although a few deemed a fifth grade Jam ”stupid” and decided to stay home and play Xbox instead. The dance this year had a Hawaiian theme and as we pulled up, the girls were all taking pictures in groups, decked out in adorable floral sundresses and wearing just a hint of make-up.
I love the song “Apron Strings” by Everything but the Girl. It was featured years ago in the John Hughes’ movie “She’s Having a Baby”. I rented that particular movie the night I told my husband that we were pregnant with our oldest son, Adam. The song still chokes me up, even fifteen years later. Apron strings are a euphemism for the bonds between mother and child, in my case, mom and boys. I read another blog post ( Ron Edmondson’s http://bit.ly/6zg8Rk ) this morning that talked about what a disservice mothers do to their son (and their son’s wife) when they delay or refuse to untie the kitchen version of the umbilical cord. It is true that in the age of 30 somethings still living at home, we are raising more and more immature men that are ill equipped for successful relationships, marriage and fatherhood.
The day started like any other, with chaos as the boys rolled out of bed, into the shower and grabbed breakfast off the counter to eat in the car. Seven am is much too early for much more than general pleasantries, but the hour doesn’t usually interrupt my younger son’s incessant ramblings. This annoys my older son to no end, usually resulting in him bellowing at his brother to SHUT UP, multiple times. It is such a happy start to the day.
Saturday was miserable in Atlanta. Rain, wind and tornado watches ruined any outdoor activities for the day. So when Sunday dawned with blue skies and sunshine, I knew it was time to head to the great outdoors. My parents, Eric and I drove to downtown Alpharetta after lunch to stroll among the Streetfest booths. Eric, my youngest, was in a cranky mood and the art show didn’t help. He whined that we were walking too slow. He sighed, loudly and often, when my mom and I would stop to look at jewelry for more than five minutes. I don’t think my dad was too happy to be there either, but he was smart enough not to complain out loud.
"My spelling is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places.” A. A. Milne
As a speech therapist and all around word nerd, I have a love/hate relationship with language. “Ain’t” carelessy dropped into an otherwise educated conversation is akin to nails on a chalkboard to me. There is a great site, Martha Brockenbrough’s blog http://grammatically.blogspot.com/ , that always leaves me shaking my head at the posted spelling and puntuation fails. I know I sound like a grammar snob, but it goes with the territory of being a SLP (speech language pathologist, not street legal performance or super long play). However, if you think spell check is merely an annoying suggestion, you won’t probably won’t appreciate the humor on that blog, so don’t bother.
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