Speaking of cake, today is my birthday. Please don’t comment happy birthday, because I’ll ignore it. I hate everything about birthdays. I only mention mine to illustrate the fact that birthdays are just another day. If a person (I) expects people to bow at their (my) will, just this one day a year, they (I) will be sorely disappointed.
I woke up to the sound of my 16 year old son’s manly voice: “Happy Birthday Mom, I’m sick.”
Regardless of how that sentence started, my response was the same as it is every week when he tries this:
“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! YOU’RE NOT SICK! GET IN THE SHOWER AND GET ON THAT BUS!”
He continued as always: “I was getting sick yesterday, if you didn’t notice, you’re not paying attention.”
Me: “OH MY GOD, GET ON THAT BUS! I AM NOT CALLING THE SCHOOL!”
I could go into more details, but I choose to save those for the Department of Children and Family Services. When they knock on my door to inquire as to why my son doesn’t show up for school once or twice a week, I’ll invite them in for a slice of birthday cake, and hope they can advise me on how to parent this 16 year old who towers over me, and respects me not, because I’m at a loss.
Yay me! Another year older.