November 27, 2014. Wow. It’s  almost the end of November! As we careen headlong into the Great Holiday Trifecta I suddenly realize this means that the school year has started.  Yes, Old Mother is a bit slow on the uptake. And although I do recall filling out a Jogathon envelope recently, and also giving a presentation on Vermeer to the fifth grade,  the whole thing really only sunk in on me as I was stuffing the turkey this morning. I wrestled with that a little but by the time I closed the oven door  I had decided to view this in a positive light–evidence of the smoothest transition to a school year I’ve ever seen. Last year, three out of five were moving into a new school; this year, not a one, and they all just dove in and started stroking. So I will emulate them and dive in myself, starting with an update on the Scriblets.

SWOOSH: now a savvy, sophisticated college junior, Number One son is about to arrive for the weekend with his girlfriend, the first girlfriend he’s ever had that I really like, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut really tightly. He appears to be thriving at the University of Leaps and Bounds, which is not too far away, but far enough that he does not bring his laundry home on the weekends. He continues to be highly-placed musical big man on campus—an activity that makes his eyes shine with excitement. He also keeps his beard nicely trimmed. What more could a mother ask?

PENROD has not climbed up on the roof lately. He spends much of his time burrowed into the oversize sofa in his basement man-cave doing homework on his iPad while scarfing down bags of mini chocolate donuts he’s procured at the corner store while out on his dog-walking job. How’s that for time management? And speaking of time management, I am resolutely and appropriately keeping my mouth shut as he organizes his Eagle Scout project ALL ON HIS OWN. As I’m sure you have realized yourself, the greater part of rearing teenagers revolves around knowing when to open your mouth and when not to.

He squired the same young lady to Homecoming this year as he did last, which truly warmed the cockles of my heart. By the way, he had to buy balloons and drive over to his date’s house at a pre-arranged, weekday evening time to invite her to the dance. Then he stayed to watch an entire movie, and I’m like, is that an invitation or a date?  I actually did say that out loud.

MISS LITERARY OMNIVORE JR., who attended Homecoming with a giddy group of girlfriends, is running out of books. I’m almost not kidding. But it is a quandary. Miss O. has chewed her way through so much literature and in the process so refined her taste, that I now have to pull out my own college reading list to find nuggets to present. This is not a complaint. I can now gleefully pass along our dogeared copies of “Catcher In The Rye,” “To Kill A Mockingbird,” “The House on Mango Street,” etc. etc. und so weiter und so fort, to the nearest available household with prepubescent offspring. In her spare time she makes mouthwatering pies and plays her flute with the citywide youth orchestra, whose most recent end-of-yearish, holiday-ish concert ended with an instrumental version of Disney’s “Frozen.”

SPARKLES  is in the eighth grade and still loves me even though I do not agree that mangas constitute literature. She continues to live up to her name, showering creativity in every corner of the house, especially her own room. It’s a work of art in itself, and (thanks to her trendy teenage haircut and unique dress style) becomes a work of performance art when she is in residence even if all she’s doing is sitting on her bed reading mangas. For Halloween she was the Queen of Hearts. At this announcement I kicked into costume mode, gathering needle and thread, cardboard and glue and scissors, and plying her with really cool ideas I found on the internet, like a baroque ruff made out of playing cards. It took three run-ins for me to realize that this was one of those moments when I should keep my mouth shut. She created her own version (involving a short skirt, striped tights, creative makeup, and playing cards stuck all over) which was adorable and perfect and yet another reminder that silence is often the better part of maternal valor and not to take it personally. Her chosen musical activity is singing with a citywide youth choir, and their most recent concert ended with a rendition of Disney’s “Frozen.”

FOREVERBABY has reached double digits. He still holds hands with me in public, and still asks me for costume help on Halloween (this year, it involved purchase of a trench coat). He sleeps in his sleeping bag on top of the covers to avoid making his bed, favors athletic shorts and sweatshirts day and night, and turns every large piece of cardboard he finds into shields he uses when prowling our forested neighborhood with Robin Hood, who is the only other boy in the fifth grade who does not own a cell phone. They both practice archery, but here on the street it’s strictly make-believe and usually involves whittled spears.

It’s FB’s favorite time of year now—fireplace season—and every night he sits in front of the crackling blaze with me, dangling shoelaces in front of his new kitten, Oliver Speedy, while I read aloud. In the lengthy interval since my last issue of Mother’s Day Out we have gone through all dozen or so of the Oz books, the entire Chronicles of Narnia, The Adventures of both Mark Twain and Huckleberry Finn, and have now embarked on some thrilling-chilling-boy-adventure novels which purely coincidentally are all set in the late nineteenth century. I treasure this last remaining golden opportunity to open my mouth in front of one of my children!

Besides that, I’m keeping track of the car keys, re-stocking the refrigerator on a daily basis, and secretly planning to make that Queen of Hearts collar for myself because it’s so cool. I am also rather wistfully hoping that FB’s fifth grade vocal concert next week…does NOT end with yet another rendition of Disney’s “Frozen,” but of course will clap loudly if it does.

As Beckett would say: “Things are livening up!”