Growing Up...

Since the blog has recently turned into nothing more than monthly updates of Charlie, I thought I would spice things up a bit and give some time to Charlie’s older, wiser(?) siblings. I’ll start with Max…mostly because I find him the most intriguing these days. I am a bit unsure where my sweet first-born has gone, but I am even more confused by the pre-tween that has replaced him. Wow. Where to start?

As Max matures (and I use that term very loosely), I find myself relating more and more to my parents. Mostly in the music department. I think I officially became a parent when I started complaining about the nonsense my child was listening to and, unfortunately, also belting out at the top of his lungs. Max has suddenly become very interested in music – Taio Cruz, Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Big Time Rush are among the favorites. Santa brought Max an MP3 player so our little dude can now also share his latest music interest with the rest of us. Regular dance sessions to music videos also occur in our house – Max loves demonstrating his moves with his sister.

Every musician needs his own look. For the past four years, Max has insisted on shaving his hair short to resemble Daddy. Max has decided that he now wants a mohawk – our compromise is spikes in the front. Max’s latest look requires prepping each morning, complete with hair gel. His timing could have been better - Max’s latest hairstyle coincided with winter hat season so each morning Max walks to the bus holding his hood above his hair – can’t risk flattening the spikes. I am eagerly awaiting baseball season to see how Max contours his baseball cap to protect the “spikeys” (as he calls them).

Another sign our son is growing up (way too fast) is the daily love note found in his backpack. Apparently Max has an admirer at school – who happens to have an affinity for drawing him rainbows and hearts. Anytime we ask Max about this secret admirer, he rolls his eyes. Unfortunately, I think this little girl’s efforts are not going to be noticed anytime soon – unless, of course, she decides to start playing basketball at recess.

I will admit that we are thoroughly enjoying these past few months as we watch Max develop into his own person with his own interests, complete with bad music and silly hair. Every now and then, though, I still see momentary glimpses of the little boy who loved Thomas, played in a baby pool each warm summer day and asked us to carry him everywhere. As those moments become further and further apart, I hold on tight to each one, knowing that before we realize it, our first-born will be grabbing the car keys and visiting colleges.