Oh, unh-unh

 

The doorbell rings, I am not dressed, and Peanut yells, “Mom, there’s someone here.  It looks like K.”

“Well, open the door” I yell back, throwing a shirt on over my jeans.  Hair wet and crazy, I bounce down the stairs to see the source of our unexpected visit.  ”Hey K., what’s up?”  K., disturbingly physically mature compared to the other twelve year old boys in town, is dressed all in black, already breaking out in severe acne, and is dripping sweat because he has just ridden his scooter all the way here.

“Hey, uh, I need to talk to Moon,” K. mutters.

“Okay.  Sure.  Moon!”  I yell up to the attic.  ”K.’s here!”  Hearing Moon’s steps headed down from his attic lair, I turn back to K.  ”So, what’s up?”

“Nothing.  Really.  I just need to talk to Moon for a minute.”

“Okay.  About what?”

“Nothing much.”

All of my Mom sensors are going off.  ”Huh.  So you just rode your scooter all the way across town to talk to Moon about nothing?”

“Pretty much.”  K. laughs nervously, eyes shifting everywhere but to my face.  ”Hey!”  he spots Moon, who joins us in the foyer, “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.  Sure.”  Following K.’s lead, moon slips out to the front porch, the storm door banging closed behind the two of them, muffling their conversation.

I stand there, briefly, stunned at the realization that my not quite twelve year old son is trying to have a private conversation with his sweaty, pimply buddy on my front porch.  While I watch.

“What are they talking about, Mom?”  Peanut wants to know.

“I don’t know.  Shush so I can hear them.”

Noticing that I’m watching them, Moon and K. turn their backs to me, so I can’t read their lips.  I have sudden and terrifying flashbacks to the private conversations I was having around that age.  Boyfriends, girlfriends, kissing, rumors.  Still pretty innocent.  But, I remember how those conversations shifted the second we started seventh grade.  Make-out parties.  Hickeys.  Bases.  Hand-jobs.  People started pushing the envelope further and further.  Girls started dating older boys.  Losing their virginity.  Shit got serious.

It takes me less than five seconds to remember all the crazy stuff that was going on in my early teen years, and I say, “Oh, Hell no!” while making my “oh, Hell no” face and pushing the door open, shepherding Peanut, Henny & the dog out onto the porch.  Moon and K. go silent.

“So, what’s up?  What were you guys talking about?”

K. is mute.

“Nothing important.”  Moon crosses his arms over his chest.

“Huh,” I say.  ”So, really, what were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing, Mom.”  Moon rolls his eyes.

“Huh.  Okay, so I’m going to make something clear right now.”  I can tell Moon is horrified, and I’m glad.  That’s my job.  ”This?” gesturing to Moon and K., “this is not how I roll.  There will be no super-secret conversations on my front porch.  I will not go away so you can talk privately.  I will know all the crap that’s going on in your life, whether you want me to or not.  I will be listening, even when you think I’m not.  I will be watching, even when you think I’m not.  I will know what you don’t want me to know, because that is my JOB.  So, I suggest you get used to keeping me in the loop, because I’m going to know anyway.”

K. laughs and looks away.

“You hear me, K.?  This is what the teen years are going to look like.  I will be listening.  And watching.  I will know every last little thing you are up to, whether you want me to or not.  Get used to it.  Also, K., did you seriously just ride your scooter all the way over here to broker a deal for a video game swap (yeah, that’s right, I was listening the whole time)?”

K., laughing again, “Yeah, well M. paid me to do it.  He really wants this video game.”

Now, it’s my turn to roll my eyes.  ”We have a phone, you know.”

“I tried calling, but nobody answered.”

“Moon also has a cell phone,” I remind K., “which, had it been charged,” and as if it’s a contest, I see Moon’s eyes roll again, “you could have just texted him and saved yourself the trip.”

“Mom, fine.  I’ll charge my phone.”

“Good.  Just remember,” I look at both of them, “I’ll be checking phone records and reading every last text message, too.”

Before turning back into the house, I grab Peanut, my little blabbermouth, by the shoulder.  ”You make sure you stay out here,” I whisper in his ear “and listen to every single word they say.”

This shit?  Is my job.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted under Henny, I am an asshole, It is a miracle I don't drink more often, Moon, My kids are assholes, My kids have asshole friends, Peanut, photo, Pre-teen boys smell like tacos, The Baby, The Toddler by Laugh, Mom