In Which The Boy Gets His Training Wheels

So.

The Boy, as was previously noted, turned sixteen on the 3rd of December. Not much was done that day in the way of celebration since we planned to have yet another big family get-together the Sunday evening following for that very purpose.

And so we did.

Now, in our household it is the usual tradition to have a singing telegram for the person who turns sixteen. Somehow or another we erred greatly and missed getting one for Cutie's dad, and for that we will be sad until the day we die. And, to tell the truth, the one we got for The Girl wasn't that good. He ended up being the same person that did Eldest Daughter's when SHE was sixteen, although he no longer did the Jungle Jim routine.

In short, he was old.

When we called to get one for The Boy, we wanted a cute 20-ish college-age girl to come out and really pour on the drama. What we got was a 40-ish hooker-ish woman that came out and poured on the bored, right down to her 8" platform shoes and elastic birthday fairy wings that kept hiking up around her neck.

It was not pleasant.

But it was tradition, and The Boy manned up and took it well. It's too bad you just can't get a good singing telegram in this area nowadays. Thank goodness that's the last one we have to worry about!

Afterward he opened presents and we decided to serve refreshments. Unfortunately, SOMEONE had forgotten to buy birthday candles.

NOTE: Matches do not make good birthday candles. And don't try to use more than one. Sixteen are impossible.

Not that I would know.

Birthday Boy only wanted ice cream, so we served him first. And then we watched him eat. He asked why we weren't serving anyone else. His father told him it was because his ice cream was "special" and we were waiting for him to have to jump up and use the bathroom.

Hubster had to immediately retract that statement, because The Boy then stopped eating the ice cream. He began again after he was assured it was just normal, everyday ice cream, but still had a puzzled look. We all sat there, patiently waiting.

After eating the entire bowlful, The Boy finally took the last, huge bite. Out of his mouth came a shout, ice cream, and a key. He jumped up, ran to the front door, looked in the driveway, and shouted, "WHERE IS IT???" Hubster pointed him to the driveway next door.

He ran out of the house in his stocking feet, jumped six feet in the air while pumping his fists and shouting over and over "OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and ran over to his "new" car.

He had to be stopped from using the old house key we'd placed in his ice cream to open the door as Hubster handed him the real key. There were tears in his eyes and a permanent grin plastered on his face as he drove us around the block for the first time.

Later he told us he thought he was getting The Girl's first car, but that we'd probably had it repainted. In reality, we sold it and got an unbelievable deal on this car. We'd even gotten his approval on it before we bought it, but he didn't know it.

We found it on Craig's List, then showed a photo of it to him and asked him if it was a certain model. He told us it was, and then we looked around the web at some other examples of the same model. We went to see it the next day, drove it, and bought it. This was all a couple of months ago. We've been storing the car at HeyJules house in her driveway (THANKS, JULIE!!!) so he had no idea we bought it.

Because we are sneaky that way.

The Boy has wanted this particular model of car since he was nine years old.

It's a Mustang.

About 10:30 p.m. while I was waiting for the laundry to get done, he came to me with the same big grin on his face. The key was in his hand.

"I really just want to go out and sit in MY CAR and listen to the radio," he said.

"Go right ahead," I said. "No one's stopping you!"

And so he did.

She Will Shoot Me Dead, But It Will Be Worth It

You know, this photo was never meant to be put on a public blog, and is therefor not of the best quality pixel-wise. But unfortunately, it's the only one I can find of my dear friend Cindabel. And I just know you'd want to see her.

She's been my friend since kindergarten days with Mrs. Sharp. I used to love the smell of her hair because she use Prell shampoo and we had to use VO5. She had a big brother, while I had a little sister. She got to have a DOG at her house, and if memory serves me right it was a poodle named Fifi. She played the piano, something I always wanted to do.

And here we are, over 45 years later, still friends.

Today is her birthday. Out of respect to her I won't tell which one it is. Actually, it's out of respect to me as well, being as we're only a month apart in age.

Yes, she's the MUCH OLDER and MUCH PRETTIER one.

Happy birthday, dear friend. I hope it's as grand as you are!

Sweet 16 - Sort Of

First of all, he'd wrestle me to the ground if I said he was "sweet" and at my age that isn't an option. Secondly, well...he IS a teenager. Need I say more?

The driver's license doesn't come until February since it took him forever to apply for his permit, but he's still wearing the title of SIXTEEN proudly.

Happy Birthday, Son! You are loved!

I Am Loved - If Only For The Unhealthy Glop I Provide My Family To Eat

I have them trained well.

Yesterday I got a call from Pseudo Daughter. You know, the one who actually lives across the street with her real parents?

"Mom? Can you make that Mexican dip stuff that I like for dinner tonight? Puh-LEEEEZE??? Oh, and can you get home early to do it? I have to be at volleyball at 7 p.m."

So I stopped at the grocery store on the way home from work for the second night in a row to get the fixin's. While I was there I found ground round and boneless, skinless chicken breasts on sale, so it wasn't a total loss. SCORE.

I stayed in the work clothes since I had to attend a visitation later that evening and managed 1) not to get my clothes dirty and 2) to get the stuff ready before Hubster got back with The Boy from wrestling practice. Of course, by then Pseudo Daughter had to leave for her practice, so Hubster, The Boy and I ate without her. The Girl was at work.

(Time passes)

(Enter the second shift)

The Girl got home from work and called Boyfriend to tell him what was for dinner. He broke speed limits getting over to our house, where Pseudo Daughter had just arrived from her practice. The first words out of each of their mouths were "Where's the stuff?" The Boy decided to tuck in with them since he was obviously starved and underfed.

When they finished the victuals, there was a little over a cup left. It was amazing to see the destruction of a meal that large.

And really kind of scary.

But hey, at least I can do SOMETHING right in my kids' eyes, so I'm not complaining!

Sleeping With The Enemy

Hubster seems to have developed the same type of illness The Boy decided to share with the rest of the known world.

He's coughing and hacking and sneezing and blowing and groaning and being all stuffed up. I have to keep reminding him to cover his face with his t-shirt so he doesn't spread his plague around to the rest of us.

But let's face facts.

I have to sleep with him.

It's either that, or I sleep on the couch. He refuses to give up the comfort of our bed. And if I go downstairs to sleep on the couch, he wakes me up whenever he leaves for work at 3 a.m. Not intentionally, but he has to go through the living room to the kitchen, make a cup of coffee, cough and hack, open the refrigerator, put creamer in his coffee, cough and hack a few more times, slam the refrigerator door, stomp down the stairs to the garage, slam that door, open the garage door, start up the truck, back out, close the garage door, and drive off.

It's a symphony bound to lull anyone to dreamland.

Instead, I take the sleeping pill, plug in the MP3 player, don the CPAP mask, and hope for the best. Twice so far this week I've been awakened by the Horrendous Hacking. So today I made an appointment for Hubster the Hacker with the Good Doctor. Hopefully he will get some juiced-up cough syrup to take so that both of us can get some rest.

If not, you may find me sleeping in The Girl's room.