This last week, seven-year-old Stephen was invited to go with a friend to a rock concert. A ROCK CONCERT. He's seven. Seven. Did I mention he's seven? Isn't your first rock concert supposed to be some sort of grand, coming-of-age experience? And isn't it supposed to happen when you're, say, 14 or 15? I declined the invitation, as politely as I could (though I was honest and told the other mom that "we feel like a rock concert is a bit much for a seven year old", which she probably took as a judgment on her own parenting decisions, but oh well...)
And THEN, not 24 hours later, nine-year-old Adam was invited to a sleepover. At a girl's house. My wonderfully naive boy could not understand why this was unacceptable to us, and I told him he'd just have to trust Dad and me on this one until he's old enough to understand. Thankfully, that was good enough for him. This time.
And so it begins. These boys are slowly but surely entering the pre-adolescent years, in which every week--every day--may bring a judgment call on my part that will be hard for my kids to stomach. My own memories are all too fresh of the eye-rolling I did at my how-can-they-be-so-strict parents. And yet, I happily (and nervously) prepare to follow in their footsteps--asking questions, talking to parents, setting limits, holding my ground. I'm trusting they'll love me for it the way I do my own parents.
Am I ready for this?