Are We There Yet?
Picture this: Summer day, 70 degrees and sunny, a group of boys playing baseball on a homemade field, radio blaring in the background.
No uniforms, cleats or coaches in sight. Just a bunch of kids making up rules and running basepaths outlined in spray paint, with a plywood backstop.
Signs that our children have entered the tween/teen years: dinner conversations include talk of piercings and tattoos.
So far it’s just curiosity. The idea of more needles poking into their skin doesn’t appeal to them. But it’s clear that pierced ears are on our horizon.
My son, who turned 13 in April, is taking on more and more responsibilities these days, which I think we all would agree is a good thing. Most of the time.
Many cultures consider 13-year-olds to be on the verge of adulthood, with confirmations, bar mitzvahs, the works.
I do not believe those ceremonies involve lawn mowers.
I came home the other day to find underwear hanging in the carport.
We did not host a block party gone wild.
In our household, we do not stand on formality.
Our design style is what you might call transitional eclectic — as in, the stuff we’ve collected over the years refreshed by an occasional purchase (after the children destroyed our first sofa, for example).
We don’t host fancy dinner parties. We have barbecues.
We are not fussy about cleaning — to put it mildly.
Like a lot of other people, we took a road trip — and dealt with lots of snow — over spring break.
It wasn’t a long vacation, just an extended weekend in Kansas City to take in some NCAA tournament games, visit with family and eat lots of food.
My daughter and I closed down the library one recent Friday night.
We know how to party.
Actually, a certain slim, attractive amateur sleuth, known to zip around River Heights in her blue roadster, is to blame.
We had run into my good friend Jodi Heckel, whose daughter couldn’t wait to share her latest literary love: Nancy Drew.