My daughters and their West coast cousins have the privilege to spend a week’s vacation with one other on the Atlantic seashore… a brood of five kids from 8 to 10. It’s feels so Kennedy-esque. Minus the sailboat I suppose.
The funny part is that they are in this ‘tween phase, and Lordy-lord, the 10 years old (almost 11) are having mood swings right and left. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when Rosie is on the verge of tears if it is because the younger kids have bugged her to no end or her sensitivity level is on a budding hormonal spike. She cried at the love and loss in WALL-E at the Drive-In sitting at the back of the mini van with her Dad, her legs swinging over the side.
She lost a tooth that night, making her seem little again.
The three 8-year olds are still squealing over burp, fart, and poop jokes, which make all of us, adults included, sigh and roll our eyes. Yet part of me thinks when the bodily emissions discourse has passed us by, then we’re all in trouble as full-blown adolescence will have surely descended upon our families.
The children have occupied themselves with hours of hide-and-seek in the rental house, finding musty corners and crannies, sweeping the cobwebs clean with their moist bodies. Adele once passed me by in a flurry, “Have you seen anyone out here, Mom?” Nope, I replied. “Shit,” she remarked as she bombarded by so I had no chance to scold. I have never heard her say that.
They are all on the cusp. It’s a wonder to behold.
