iPods and Pop-Tarts (or, When You Are Ten)

For my ten year old, life is all about...

• Music and ear phones. Bands like, The Scorpions, Bon Jovi, Guns and Roses, AC/DC, The Police--all that 80's rock that his rocker of a dad has passed on. For the first time we are having to "pre-screen" the music for lyrics. (Yep...Van Halen's "Hot For Teacher" is on the "I don't think so" list.)
  
• Discovering Safeway is far more fun than Trader Joes. Hello fun, empty, sugar-filled, salt-filled, fat-filled food! If I dare take him with me on a random trip to Safeway we make a deal before we go in: one, just one item of his choice. No bargaining for more. Lately, he has been bringing home Hershey's strawberry syrup. (nasty) That Pop-Tart? It's a TJoes "healthy" version, which he tolerates. But it is not the real thing. 
• Being out after dark. It's not like he wants to go run off or anything, he just wants to ride his bike up and down the street. Still, it's dark buddy. 
• Going to bed anytime after 9pm. Because before that is for babies (like his little sister who is sound asleep by 8pm).  I finally had to just shoot straight with him: "Look Zach, you can go to bed by 9pm but you have to be in your bedroom by 8pm--mom and dad are done for the day. We're just d.o.n.e."
• Earning money. Bugging me about his allowance. I finally went and opened a savings account with him and set up an automatic transfer of $5 a week into his pot. Oh, and he's sold more stuff on eBay than I ever have. Because right now it's all about...
• Buying things. Especially, an Air-Soft gun. Moms...the fascination never goes away. He and Scott sit in bed with the lap top scrolling through the many air-soft packages and deals. My only relief comes in the knowing that air-soft guns use...air. And when you get hit with the bubble-like bullets it's...soft. "What about the face? The eyes?" I ask. "They have these really cool face masks and helmets mom! You're totally protected!" Nice.

Yet though I jest, I marvel at this kid. He works hard...I mean hard. He belongs on a farm. If it weren't for child labor laws I would go get him a job bagging groceries, chopping trees, moving heavy objects. He mows and edges the lawn every Saturday morning--without us having to ask. He empties the dishwasher. He works on his bike. He loves a good book. He likes to take things apart. Dig holes. Pull weeds. Build stuff. Make his own songs on Garage Band. He loves being with his family, (I couldn't pull him away from the beach yesterday) and going on adventures. He talks to me about living in nature and how his heart aches for the mountains and trees and land. (I hear you Buddy, my heart aches for that too.) 

He still won't pick up his dirty socks, or clothes, or put away the toothpaste (he belongs to the male species) but I know that I love him. I have said it many times, in many posts...

I. Love. This. Kid.