Boys vs Girls

The past 24 hours have been quite the learning experience for me in terms of the Tween Set.

Sleepover Wars: 11-year old Daughter vs. 13-year old Son

1.  The Sexes

Girls: Twister, Silly Bandz swapping, Rock Band on the Wii, and everything smells like flowers and candy. And most have brought either something flowery from Bath and Body Works or candy. To share.

Boys: loud, loud, messy, and LOUD. My house smells like sweaty frogs.  And Axe. I think that other smell was Axe. Or a dead animal.

2.  Snacks

Girls: share Krispy Kreme doughnuts, carefully dividing the ones they all want so everyone gets a bite.  

Boys: arm wrestle to the near-death for any glazed ring of goodness, no matter how many other perfectly edible doughnuts are left in the box. Then they crush their juice cups in victory.

3.  The Sleeping Part

Girls: sleep means dreaming about trips to Build-A-Bear and the new American Girl store.  

Boys: consider sleep unmanly. Who needs sleep when the world runs on sheer adrenaline, Airsoft guns, and LEGO bricks?

4.  Celebrities

Girls: lively debate on the whole Justin Bieber is awesome/lame debacle. 

Boys: everything is "beast", love Megan Fox and all want the new girl at school's phone number even though it's highly unlikely they'd actually have the courage to call. Girls are scary.

5.  Social Media

Girls: giggle about puppies memes and who knows whom on Instagram.  

Boys: post about wanting "hot" girlfriends even though they've never touched a member of the opposite sex.

6.  The Guest List
You can count on at least one child per sleepover who's next sleepover invitation will, unfortunately, get "lost in the mail". 

Girls: the individual may not become apparent until the morning after. The suitability gossip escalates with each departure.

Boys: it will evident the moment you let them in the front door.

I don't recall my brother ever having a sleepover with his pals, while mine were almost a weekly event. My mother was a wise tween mom.

Where Did It Go?

I was up to my eyeballs in closet cleaning recently and came across a box of saved school work from my big girls, K and M. Artwork, spelling tests, and creative writing assignments were mixed in with the report cards and field trip fliers. The little kid handwriting, with its grammatical training wheels and misspelled words, brought little misty tears. 

Forgetting the self-inflicted pile of closet debris around me, I stepped into my personal time machine and took off.

K's "All About Me" poster was eerily foretelling. And M's birthday party pics captured her glee with ease. Time flies is truly the most accurate statement ever uttered. How could my precious little people, my motherhood guinea pigs, be all grown up now and out on their own? With ballet recitals and soccer games, cheerleading and SkillsUSA checked off on their TO DO lists, where did I fit into their world now? My heart ached and my eyes grew a bit more than misty. (I'm not crying, you're crying.) 

I took a moment, then carefully placed the papers and drawings and photos back in the box, checking to make sure no edges were bent or 3D art masterpieces crushed. Then I pushed it back into the closet and headed downstairs. 

My two youngest babies were playing Star Wars Legos in the front room and suddenly needed big hugs. Or was that me?