I Have A Seven Year Old Teenager

The following scene occurred Saturday evening. . .

Chad (standing in the bathroom): Charlie! 
Charlie (responding from the living room):  What?!
Chad (in stern voice):  Come. Here. Now.
(Charlie scampers down the hallway into the bathroom where Chad is waiting.)
Chad, pointing to the bath towel and every article of clothing Charlie had been wearing prior to taking his shower asks:  Where do these go?  (This is like the bazillionth time this has happened.)
Charlie, without missing a beat answers by pointing to the towel rack and saying: the towel goes there and my clothes go in the laundry basket. . .

. . . and he turns and quickly runs out of the bathroom back toward the living room.

I wasn’t present for the scene and, honestly, I’m glad I wasn’t.  This would have been one of those situations where I would have had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, grab my pants to keep from raising a hand for a high five and and telling Charlie, Good one!

Wasn’t it just yesterday when he was sleeping in a crib, sitting on my lap asking me to read I’ll Love You Forever, and saying, I wuv oo.  I can’t tell you how often I ask myself the question. . . how did I get here?

Sure, he’s only in first grade, but he is in first grade. . .

. . . and the speed of his wit is already competing with my own. 

Oh boy.  What am I doing?

I wonder how long it’s going to take him to understand that we are just feeling our way through this parenting thing.  I wonder if he knows that we have no clue what to expect with each passing day.  I wonder if he knows how often Chad and I look over him at each other and shake our heads in wonder. . . is he really old enough to know that, say that, understand that?

But he is.  My boy is growing up and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. 

This was the scene today when I asked Charlie to do his reading for school. . .

Three minutes later. . .

Two minutes later. . .

One minute later. . .

The homework scene reminded me of the Lifesaver commercial from back in the day.  You remember the one. . . the father and daughter are watching the sunset and just as the sun dips below the horizon that Dad says, going, going, gone and then the daughter whispers, do it again Daddy. 

In just a few short minutes I watched Charlie’s head dip lower and lower until it was virtually “gone” below the table. 

I shake my head in an attempt to adjust my eyes. . . yep, he’s seven, but he sure seems like a teenager at times. 

I wonder if my Dad ever shakes his head to remind himself that his daughter is no longer 4 or 10 or 13 or 17, but a grown woman.  Is this surreal feeling at watching them grow something that goes away over time or does it stick with you for a lifetime?  Because I’ll tell you what, if it doesn’t fade at least a little bit, I’m not sure my heart can take it.

The way I see it, at this rate, Charlie and I are going to be the same age in four years. 

Right?