I hung out for a couple of hours at G's daycare last Friday. There were a couple of elementary school girls who helped set up the nap cots during their lunch hour. They just volunteered to do this. They have no idea how cute they are, I thought.
How old are you?
Eleven, they answered.
That's a great age! I said, lamely.
Umm...no, not really, they replied.
How come? I asked
They kicked the bookshelves and looked shy. I mean, what can you say about eleven? If you are 10, you can say "double digits, finally!" or if you are 12, you can say "Almost Teen!"
"I guess eleven is weird, because you don't get to be a cute kid anymore, and you are not a teen with grownup issues to make you feel important," I offered.
They nodded like was starting to get it.
And then, I remember puberty being around the corner. Everytime I was in a bad mood, mom would offer "you are probably going to get your period soon" which would make me Even Angrier! And how you kept looking around to see who is going to come back from winter break with boobs or zits. And if you are first in your class to get boobs or boners, there is no one to even talk with about it, because you are freakishly first! God, it sucked to just wait for puberty, wondering whether it would strike you before your friends, or - God Forbid - last among your peers.
Ok, so I didn't actually say the part about boners, because I am not THAT inappropriate, but I said some of what I just wrote, and they agreed with me. In fact, I think they thought I was cool. For a mom. Or maybe they were just nodding so I would stop talking and embarrassing them.
I was supposed to write a post about the number 10 or being 10. But ten was boring. I was the teacher's pet and learned to play chess and I still played on the monkey bars while the boys came back from recess with sand in their hair. By eleven I gave my teacher the finger and got caught. I got a dog. And braces. There was a boy with buck teeth who used to stick a ruler down his pants and his eyes would roll back in his head.
