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.