Miguel loves to sing. He always has. When he was five, he saw the musical "Oklahoma" and then woke us every morning at 5 a.m. for a week singing, "Ooooooklahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plain..." at full volume. Every morning, we'd jump out of bed frightened and confused and then calm down and remember that it was just Miguel before he got to the waving wheat smelling sweet.
He sings. He talks. He never stops moving. Our life with him has been one of constant sound and motion. If I had to describe him in cartoon characters, I'd say he is like the Tasmanian Devil combined with Alvin of the Chipmunks combined with Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes. Sounds adorable, right? Well, he is even though we spend a great deal of times saying, "Shhhh...we're right here..."
I'd always heard that boys calm down as they head towards those teenage years. Aren't boys supposed to laze around and sleep more? Aren't they supposed to become laconic?
In other words, shouldn't my life be getting calmer and quieter now that my son is almost 13?!
Because it's isn't.
He still talks constantly and asks every question that pops into his head and he still sings. He comes in like a Wrecking Ball every morning and no one warned me about the beatboxing.
So much beatboxing.
If the Axe Body Spray doesn't kill me, the beatboxing just might.
But I am happy that he still talks to me. We must be doing something right.
Everything I learned about talking to kids, I learned from my own. They are pretty good teachers. Head on over to VillageQ where I'm giving pointers for parents on talking to their kids about everything, including sex.