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Hairy Men Folk

My oldest son’s voice is changing, which is really bad enough. This still did not prepare me to hear my son’s proud boastings of fur sprouting from his underarms today. I felt like crying… or maybe just driving to the nearest Dunkin Donuts with a loot bag screaming, “gimme everything you’ve got! I have a crisis on my hands!!!” Luckily for my waistline, and whoever the poor guy working behind the counter might be, we’re in a new area and I don’t even know where in the heck Dunkin Donuts is. Tissues would have to suffice.

My tears streaked, I sniffled a bit, and I pondered. How in the world did this happen so fast? I turn my head for a second and all of a sudden, my little boy has turned into a huge-footed, taller-than-his-mother, football-obsessed, first-crushing, hairy young man. Did I mention he is only 11? I mean, who is this big, hairy tween and where is he hiding my little boy?

And then, just as I had almost run out of tissue, and was about to hunt down that Dunkin Donuts after all, my son calls to me from the other room. Instead of the expected, “Mother?” or, “hey, Mom!” I heard that beautiful, familiar voice say, “Mama… I need your help with something.” I breathed and smiled. And I realized he is not quite so grown up yet. I thank God he needs me for a while longer. And, much as I hate to admit, he is growing up. But as other moms know, he will always be my little boy. It will just take a bit (and plenty of tissues) to get used to the taller, hairier, man version.

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