Eleven

Hello and welcome to a blizzardy Saturday here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is March 11th and this week the 5th Grader turned eleven!

I've decided that something decidedly demarcating happens when a kid turns eleven. At least my kid. The last couple weeks before her birthday, I noticed a change in my ten-year-old. She seemed a little taller, a little more organized, and a little more serious. A little more grown up. As the moon waxed its way to fullness (a Worm Moon, I learned) earlier in the week, so too, did my daughter.  

Turning ten was a big deal last year. Ten meant finally entering the world of double digits. Ten is a desire and expectation to be taken seriously by the world because you have finally joined the masses, i.e. all the other people in the world who are in their double digits. Ten is both a solemn and exciting closing of one door - single digits - followed by the opening of a new door to an entirely new house.

In this new house, the ten-year-old heads straight for her bedroom. She still loves to play. She still has tons of stuffed animals to cuddle with, Legos galore, and enough headbands to last three weeks before needing to wear the same one twice. The ten-year-old is still whimsical and fun and puffs out her chest, pretending she is wearing a shiny gold star sticker with proud lettering that shouts, "I'm 10!" 

The 10-year-old plops on her bed and pulls out a graphic novel from her favorite author Raina Telgemeier - Smile, Guts, The Baby-Sitters Club - reading and rereading them all. She only reads graphic novels.

Ten is when she decides she's old enough to get her ears pierced - and then regrets it.

On the cusp of eleven, the girl comes out of the bedroom and explores other rooms in the house. She starts to fold laundry in the laundry room; she learns how to bake a cake and how to open a can with a can opener in the kitchen. She is in charge of cleaning the kitchen. And of taking care of the cats. In my office, she orders a Lego set online from Target. 

Her bedroom is still her haven; Lego is still her favorite. But her Lego builds become more complex as she connects the individual sets to build a little Lego community that holds the complexity of the stories she makes up for each unit.

Her hairband selection process gets more sophisticated as she contemplates her fashion choices.

On the cusp of eleven, she decides it's time to trade out the Warriors graphic novel series for the actual Warrior Cats series by Erin Hunter - the one with no pictures.

On the cusp of eleven, she decides it's her responsibility to do "special therapy" - that's what she calls it: "special therapy" - on her older siblings. When the love doctor is in, a serious session ensues in which she challenges them to consider just how much they love their respective sweethearts and if they are positive they want to be dating that person.

Turning eleven is a conscientious step away from the single digits. It's a definitive act that says, "I am so beyond nine."

Turning eleven is another conscientious step into the double digits. It's a definitive act that says, "I am ready for what's next."

Ten was a warm-up; eleven is the transition.

Eleven is accepting that your ears are pierced for the rest of your life and taking care of them even when you "don't feel like it."

Eleven is listening to Taylor Swift and infusing serious emotion (and volume) into your voice and facial expressions as you sing along to "Speak Now," "Mean," and "Never Grow Up."

Eleven is wanting to dance carefree but holding back just a little because what if you embarrass yourself?

Eleven is still wanting to play with Legos because - hello! - even though you're growing up, you're still a kid!

Yesterday, I got to spend the whole day with not one but two eleven-year-olds. After a thrilling conversation that included fun fact-swapping about walruses, whales, and a host of endangered animals, and recommendations for good kid podcasts - Who Smarted? and Brains On - I've come to the conclusion that eleven is the sweet spot of childhood. Eleven is still full of plenty of play and imagination of the single digits with an increasing capacity to glimpse and grasp the bigger picture of life. It is the campfire on the beach after being ten. 

Eleven is also the calm before the storm; a time of peace before the hormones really kick it up a notch and middle school becomes a battleground instead of a playground with its own gains and losses.

Eleven is serious.

But also still fun.

Eleven is growing up.

But not yet.

(But sort of.)

Eleven is not ten.

Eleven is sweet.

Full of love and light.

Curious more than somber.

Eleven is not twelve.

Not yet.