stinky

"something stinks," susanna said from the back seat of the car.  "but i don't know what it is."

i inhaled deeply and smelled it too -- but with many more years of experience, i did know what it was.  it was body odor -- emanating from our nine-year old boy, sweaty from basketball practice with wet hair plastered to his head to prove it.  i had been aware of this issue ever since i had to air out his soccer bag after his goalie gloves (which can't be thrown into the washer along with the other gazillion athletic items he owns) remained zipped inside for far too long.  but it wasn't until this car ride home that i finally acknowledged that it wasn't just his equipment ... it was him.

i sighed.  "liam," i said, glancing at his expectant face in the rearview mirror, "i think you need deodorant." 

his sweet face -- no longer that soft, cherubic face of years gone by -- broke out in a huge smile.  "really?  deodorant?"  he paused, letting it sink in.  "awesome."

this is just one of a long list of signs that have hit me smack upside the head recently that he's, well, growing up.  some signs are welcome; some, not so much.  one that's been comforting to witness is his increased sense of place in the world.  i remember driving him and a friend to the tennis courts back in early december, sitting quietly as they had their own five minute conversation about the death of nelson mandela.  "he was a great leader," liam stated in a voice that sounded like it was coming from a person twice his age.  "he changed south africa forever."

on the other end of the spectrum, he's become overly intrigued by forbidden words, pointing out profanity almost gleefully whenever he comes across it.  (you'd be surprised how often "hell" and "damn" can be heard on the radio and television.)  he's eager to test his limits, even asking me from time to time if he can spell one of the words when he's frustrated. (answer: always no.)

and some signs are just fun to see.  he's watched chris amp up his exercise regimen with F3, and is now eager to grow his muscles like his daddy.  "i want to get ripped!" he's exclaimed, quoting a commercial that airs often on ESPN, which is the only network he ever watches.  so chris has shown him how to do a proper push-up, and every night, he'll do a few sets on his bedroom floor, often calling me in to show me how many more he can do over the last time i watched.

as always, wonder is eager to help ... or at least get in the middle of all the action

and then, there's one sign that was the toughest pill to swallow.  "i hope this is okay," he said to me recently, "but i think i want to just call you 'mom' from now on.  i think 'mommy' is sort of baby-ish."  my eyes widened as i tried to conceal my dismay.  "mommy -- i mean mom! -- i'm like the only kid i know who still uses that word.  i need to grow up sometime!"

like a dagger to my heart.

but he's nine years old.  he's entering that stage they now call "tweens", which perfectly sums up where he is with the push/pull on almost every front.  sure, he follows politics and the news, but he'll still talk your ear off about the wii.  bad words intrigue him, but he still thinks that the "f word" is fart.  he'll do all those push-ups, but only if his beloved night-night is next to him.  and the "mom" thing?  to be honest, he forgets it most of the time.

so at least for a little while longer, i'm still mommy.  he still kisses me goodbye when he leaves for school in the morning, and we still curl up in my bed every night and read together.  and his body -- with the faint scent of deodorant and those bulging muscles -- is still small enough to snuggle into my side.

stinky?  nah.  that's pretty darn sweet.