It’s 10 o’clock. Have you seen my 12 year old?

I had been warned for years, and had been expecting it. I knew viscerally and in every capacity that yes, it was BOUND to happen and likely SOON.

So why, when my 12-year old son up and got all hormonal on me, was I so flippin' shocked?

Maybe because I anticipated a slooowwwww slide into puberty, like that of his older brother.

Maybe because I was hopelessly-- if not freakishly-- in denial.

Maybe because I underestimated the lure of technology and teen-hood.

Whatever the case, my handsome, witty, charming, intelligent, wonderful, soulful, thoughtful and thought-provoking, well-spoken, humorous 12-year old son has been bitten by the sharp eye-teeth of puppy love. Clearly, a boy so enchanting as to be described with no less than ten adjectives in one sentence by his very own mother is clearly worthy of the attention of the young ladies.

Girls. I'm not certain 11- and 12-year olds even qualify as "young ladies" yet.

And one particular girl has captured his attention so thoroughly that he has developed a second love, a partner in facilitating his flirtatious affair: his cell phone.

My quick-learning (11 adjectives) son learned (rather quickly) how to use all the features of his new constant companion. How to set new ring tones; how to change the wallpaper; how to record his own alert saying, "You have a text message" sounding like the 90s version of "You've got mail."

He has also learned that when this goes off 100 times in as many minutes, he will get heckled by his siblings.

Relentlessly.

My son has taken to needing his privacy at all hours of the day and night. His usual post on the couch or recliner lies empty. He no longer plays X-box with the veracity of his stepbrother. Instead, my prepubescent is like a terrier, cutting a repetitive path about the yard: he paces the back lawn, exits through the side gate, cuts across the front yard, heads down the front walk, turns up the driveway, meanders around to the side yard, goes back to the side gate, and re-enters the backyard-- all while deep in cell-phone bliss.

I suppose I should take solace in the fact that while he is all-consumed with his first "girlfriend," the extent of their relationship (beyond the cell phone) amounts to playing basketball on the blacktop after school, for about 30 minutes (when her parents pick her up). His buddies are there, her girlfriends are there, three school monitors are there. I don't fear the hanky-panky. In fact, I find the innocence of their mutual interest charming in that can't-take-my-eyes-off-that-traffic-accident sort of way.

I'm just not ready for the sudden "loss" of my son to his own internal need to grow toward independence. And yet, as I write this, this same son informs me that he has found a long-lost "collector's item" in his sister's room. (A Pokémon stuffed animal.)

I am grateful for the mild reassurance this statement offers.

For a whole 30 seconds anyway, when our conversation is interrupted by the alert "You've got a text message" chirp from his pants pocket, and I watch him dart out the back door.

American Idol Cupcakes

American Idol Cupcakes
Originally uploaded by SweetToothFairy

These are the kinds of cupcakes I aspire to. Gen, you should have had these last night!

The Tell-Tale Laundry Room