The Lurking Phase

For those of you who have been around kids, a lot, you know that they are sponges, constantly absorbing your every move: watching you when you think they are not, taking cues from you and your choices, behavior, etc.  From the moment they arrive they are forever observing. They soak it all up and even mimic what they witness in an attempt to sort out their world.  You realize some of this when your little one innocently spurts out an explicative after spilling his milk. You stare at your spouse in stunned silence wondering which of you he heard it from. (Uh, not that this is a true story or anything, just giving you an example.) 

But now that my children are a bit older I have come to terms with the reality of their keen observing skills and their amazing curiosity, making adjustments to my own behavior (ahem) and purposefully working on my role as a parent in offering them a healthy model to observe (with a bit of grace thrown in for the times I botch it).

But now (Lord help me)....now my children have entered the lurking phase (as I have come to recently call it). I noticed in the last few months (especially with my 10 year old--who has always had an extra dose of curiosity) that they are subtle (but not so subtle) about their observing: they lurk. They float, hover, a few feet away with the intent to "listen in" on my conversations. They come into the room to ask me what's for dinner while peering over my shoulder (major pet peeve)... 

• reading my emails ("Why are you telling So and So that she can't come by our house tomorrow? We'll be here...")
  
• picking apart my Facebook status updates ("Why did you just say OMG?")
• assessing my on line bank balance ("You only have $6 left in your checking account?!?")
• reviewing the contents of my Amazon cart ("Who's that Fancy Nancy book for?")

Yes, it's just a down right case of nosiness. Quietly lurking with the intent to gather information...until their curiosity gets the better of them. 

Case A:

While having a quiet intense conversation with my spouse in the kitchen we might suddenly be interrupted by a child (who is sitting on the toilet) yelling, "What did So and So say?!?! ---I couldn't hear that part!"

Case B: 

My phone beeps, signaling a text. I am upstairs but my son has heard the beep. He brings me my phone (while I am on the toilet) and informs me that I have a text. I thank him and take the phone. He steps back with the appearance of leaving but then cannot contain himself any longer. "Who is it?" "Aren't you going to read it?" "What will you write back?"

Sometimes I satisfy their curiosity by offering up the goods: "Seriously Zach, it's just the linoleum guy wanting to know when he can come fix the floor boards." Or, "I've texted Kathy to say that the bag of clothes is on the porch." 

But more often than not I take the easy way out and say, "Nothing that concerns you, it's no big deal." To which I then get the reply, "Then if it's not a big deal why won't you tell me?"

This is where I stare back at them and wonder what my life has come to when I am narrating every single move of my life for an audience of two who will not give up their lurking nosey ways until every last question is answered. (When you have a crazy curious son like mine you feel as if you have been narrating your life for the last 10 years--that's a long time.) 

I know full well that this is yet another stage of development: watching the adult world around them with the need to be a part of it and make sense of it--despite their lack of emotional maturity to handle it. They lurk because the need to know is like a drug. To which I, the adult, have the fix. Without it they may grow anxious or worry or make assumptions, jump to conclusions. And the magnifying lens they use to lurk with is too distorted to make sense of this world if I am not there to help them bring things into focus. 

This is why even though we have many conversations about being intrusive and nosey (and why it is not appropriate to huddle at the top of the stairs--when you should be in bed--and listen to mommy and daddy's conversation), I am still daily needing to appropriately weigh the myriad of "need to know" and "not need to know" details of my life and the adult world...and which of those I will give away like a drug to feed the need.

I do not know when this phase ends or if it ever does. I guess we all have a need to lurk and peek, to gather information. But please, I pray, let it come to some sort of pass so I can stop the narrating.  

(Facebook posts are on the "not need to know" list.)