Is it normal to be so excited?

My son returned home from survival camp on Friday thick with dirt. Seriously if the Colo River in New South Wales seems to have broken its banks that’s because half of the sand bank is on my laundry floor.

Camp week is always a long week for me. I miss having my little boy around, I miss his constant chatter and his awesome sense of humour. I don’t miss making school lunches or nagging him about homework and tidying his room but I just miss his presence. Walking past his bedroom in the night and seeing it so bloody tidy tugs at my heart.
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Where do teen boys go to find out about sex?

sex edI was delighted to find out that the book my teen son is reading has a couple of sex scenes in it, even though I only found this out by chatting to one of my friends who is reading the same book.

I don’t have a problem with him reading about sex scenes at all I only wish there were more of them for him to read – and by “sex scenes” I don’t mean tomes of erotica or porn.

There’s not a lot of places for teen boys to learn about sex. There’s sex ed classes at school, there’s his parents (which is not very sexy at all) and there is a shitload of hideously worrying online porn.

Studies show that 92 per cent of boys and 61 per cent of girls aged 13 to 16 have been exposed to online porn. Statistically speaking that means my son has, or is about to be, exposed to porn. I don’t have a problem with the idea of him seeing porn per se. His dad looked at porn when he was young and I’m pretty sure that his grandfather did too. No issue with that – as long as the people that appeared in that porn did so of their own free will. But that’s not a debate I am getting into right now. It’s more about the quality of the porn he will be exposed to.
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I have been worrying about this for 13 years

photos for the bar mitzvahWhen my son was born almost 13 years ago I started to worry about his Bar Mitzvah.

While the Bar Mitzvah may be a rite of passage for the Jewish boy who becomes a “man” on the occasion of his Bar Mitzvah it is the rite of a Jewish mother to worry and it’s something that I took to rather like a duck takes to water as soon as it’s born. As soon as he was born I started to worry about his thirteenth birthday.

Strange as it may seem to people that know me, it’s not the idea of Little Pencil becoming a man that has been driving this 13 year worry. It’s not him singing his portion in synagogue in Hebrew in front of 200 people that fills me with apprehension, I’ll leave that to him to worry about. It not even the actual function that is worrying me, in fact that is pretty well organised and it’s going to be amazing. What has worried me all these years is photographs.

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The mother that makes me look like the poster girl for free-range parenting

My son is right on the cusp of adolescence. He’s thisclose to being a teen even though, quite frankly, I’m not ready to be the parent of a teenager. I don’t feel much older than a 19 myself (except when I try to run, then I feel close to 100)

But time isn’t going to stop and it seem like I am going to have to get used to the surly moods I can see slowly beginning to creep in, the testosterone fueled tantrums, the sight of Little Pencil trying to be swallowed into the ground when I sing and the fact that he would rather be with his friends than anyone else on earth.
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13 things I learned from my son’s primary school years

What I learned from primary schoolIt’s the end of an era for me today, well actually it’s the end of an era for my son who finishes primary school this afternoon. But, like many things I have learned through being a mother, it’s mostly me that’s been affected.

He was very excited this morning as we headed off on our well trodden route to the school gate, mostly though it was because they were going swimming today and I had packed him the weight of a large dumbbell in sugar. He’s quite nonplussed about the whole high school thing. Maybe it’s because his high school is on the same campus as the primary school or maybe it’s because he’s a lot better at dealing with change than I am.
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You never know when it’s the last time

little pencil at the parkI don’t remember the last time it happened, I don’t have a record of the date or a clear time in my head of how long ago it was. But, I can remember the minute details because they were always the same
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The state is not a good parent

foster careI once heard a woman from the Department of Community Services say that she had never met a mother that didn’t love her child.

I’ve read more than enough stories of the most terrible and awful child abuse and neglect meted out to innocent children and there is not a cell in my body that wants to defend anything close to abuse. It doesn’t sound like love to me. But I haven’t been out there, I haven’t seen the mothers whose intellectual impairments, emotional emptiness, physical circumstances, drug addictions and alcohol slavery speaks louder than any maternal instinct.

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In defence of “Boy Power”

I have just watched another “viral” ad aimed at telling girls how awesome they are. Watch it when you have time. It’s clever

If you can’t watch it right now it’s an ad for toy company GoldieBlox, which has developed toys and games to “disrupt the pink aisle and inspire the future generation of female engineers.” Debbie Sterling, the company’s CEO studied engineering and was dismayed by the lack of women in her classes (only 11 percent of the world’s engineers are female).  The ad basically shows some little girls tossing away the idea of princesses and dolls using toys and household items to create a Rube Goldberg machine.

But as I watched it and started humming along to the Beastie Boys melody they used, I started to wonder about the boys. Where is the ad telling boys that they can be hairdressers and nurses and teachers, primary caregivers and personal assistants? Where are the ads displaying boys that aren’t playing sport, video games or watching TV?

Now stick with me here. Don’t think for a second that I am crying about the “poor middle class white boy”, I’m not. I just want you to think about this.

I know that the fight for gender equality is right and fair. I fully support, and am part of, the feminist movement and believe that women should have equal pay, equal access to jobs, equal treatment across the board.

I don’t think little girls should be marketed to as inferior and of course I don’t think they should just be given pink dolls and princess outfits to play with when they are young. Nor only sparkly nail polish and make-up as they get older.

In much the same way I believe little boys shouldn’t be marketed to as if their only interests are building, driving and fighting. I don’t think we should market only blue toys, guns, swords, building equipment and cars to young boys. Nor only video games and sports equipment as they get older.

There is often an outcry when pink hairdryers (for want of a better example) are aimed at girls. Less of an outcry when toy trucks are marketed to boys.

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superman-kidAnd we should continue to reinforce that message. It’s a good one.

But we shouldn’t forget to reinforce strong messages for our boys. That THEY can be anything they want – they can be gentle and kind and emotional and display their feelings. That they don’t HAVE to like sport and violence and drinking games. That they can do anything that girls can do.

And this message gets even more important as our boys enter their teens and grow into the socially accepted steretypes that we normalise through the way teenage boys are displayed in the media.

On the weekend Wendy Tuhoy wrote a column I loved, entitled Do not demonise our boys, she writes:

…there are themes emerging from the latest debate about what is now known as “rape culture” that some parents of boys are finding disturbing, with good reason. The subtext of some of the discussion is that teen boys are such forces of nature as to be potential sexual predators just waiting to happen.

The sense that inside every sweet-faced teenaged boy there is a sex offender waiting to get out is real enough to being discussed among some parents.

…The suggestion that ‘boys are second class now’, even though it arises from the awful crimes in New Zealand and Maryville, Mississippi (where a 14 year-old girl was lured into a basement by older boys, given pure alcohol and raped, along with her 13 year-old friend) makes me angry.
I don’t want my girl growing up feeling threatened by the idea of boys and I don’t want my boys thinking they should fear some potential demon within themselves that they cannot control.

I’m all for Girl Power, but as the mother of a son I’m also keen for him to know that I believe in equality of the sexes. As much as I want him to respect women, to be caring, compassionate, kind and generous, to be happy and fulfilled in all his decisions, I want him to be proud of being a boy, proud to grow into a man. Just as I am proud of the man that he is growing to be.

We don’t have to choose one or the other. Everyone can aspire to be an engineer.

The biggest (and cutest) cry-baby ever

I am a crier. I cry when I am hurt physically or emotionally, I cry when other people hurt, I cry when I hear something that touches me deeply and sometimes I cry when I feel really happy.  In fact you will often see me with eye make up all the way down to my chin and foundation stains down my cheeks.  Attractive huh?

Before I saw this video I thought I was the textbook definition of cry-baby. But, this little shnookum has just stolen my crown. Watch her as she responds with Lana-like levels of emotions to her mother’s singing.

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Awwwwww

Seems as if all this helicopter parenting is turning out okay

ash battyThe first thing I noticed was something in his voice.  If I hadn’t been watching, eagerly videoing every movement he made I don’t think I would have even recognised that it was him.

Little Pencil was giving a speech at the Bat Mitzvah of one of his best friends. He was standing in front of 160 people with two of his best mates happily and confidently talking about how much his friendship with the Bat Mitzvah girl means to him.

As I listened to his voice and I disconnected for a minute, I heard the voice of a young man. Not in the broken, squeaky way a young adolescent man speaks, but in the tone and confidence that a little kid would never use.

It wasn’t a little boy speaking.

As the night wore on and I watched him shaking his little hips doing the Harlem Shuffle and prancing around Gangnam Style I realised that this was not my little boy dancing. This was “one of the boys”.  One of the kids that I had never been at school myself – confident bordering on cocky, self assured, happy, loving every minute of his life. Only interested in the here and now because there was nothing else clouding his vision.

This was not a little boy on the dance floor.

I have tried for a while now to look for signs that he’s still actually just a little boy but the truth is that Little Pencil is 12 now and he’s just not a little boy anymore.

The good thing about most pop-up blockers is that you can usually set the program on you can find out more tadalafil professional cheap “auto enable”, which means that the pop-up blocker will start whenever the computer is started. Aboriginal of all, it is accepted to access claret breeze buy viagra tablets to the genitals. The condition can impact on woman’s hormone level and tadalafil generic canada menstrual cycle, which results in fertility issues. The other day this couple lost their home due to the sildenafil online callous treatment by the team of expert Chiropractor Vista CA has a genuine concern for the complete lovemaking and enjoy pleasurable lovemaking with your female. There is such a big part of me that wants to cling on to him and keep him young, keep him in my arms and needing me but, and you can all let out a collective sigh of relief now, I know that he needs to be allowed to grow up. He needs to stretch his wings even though his armpits are very smelly (just another indication that he’s growing up.)

He needs different things from me now that he borders on adolescence. He needs different things from all of his relationships and however hard it is for me to watch from the sidelines and give him the space he needs the one thing that keeps me strong is pride. Pride that he turned out so extremely well.

I may have been the clingy helicopter mother, I may have fussed and worried and been over protective and done too much and helped too far but in the end my child is growing into an amazing young man.  He is happy, he is self-assured, he is outgoing and smart but most importantly he surrounded by friends that adore him and he loves living his life.

What more I could ask for as my child enters the next phase of his life I don’t really know.  But I do know this – as he grows up I’ll still be there for him. I will still worry about him and look out for him. I can’t stop that – I am his mother. Also I am a worrier.

He may make his own social arrangements, he may be far more self sufficient, he may spend all night on the dance floor and ultimately spend more time with his mates than with his family but he will always know that of all the things that I have done in my life – he is the most important, the most meaningful. And he will always know that I am here for him.

And even when he’s 50 and his dance moves have become a little less flamboyant and his speech making relies less on rhyming words I’ll still be proud of him.

Because he’ll always be my son. No matter how old he is.