I Now Own Two Teenagers

Yesssssss!  Yes!  You read that right!  I own them.  Placenta's don't grow on trees, you know.  So when yours has played a vital role in the life of your kids?  There's nothing to think about.  You own them!  Period.  The next time they ask why they have to do what you’re asking or telling them to do?  Say, “’Cause it was my placenta!”  Offer no further explanation. 

Because I was kind enough to give birth, thirteen years ago?   Today, my boy turned thirteeeeeeeeeeeeen!  ^_^!!!  Hip hip hooray to that! 

Wait. 

I'm getting old!  >_<!  Whhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!?! 

A-hem! 

On second thought?  No...no, I'm not.  Heh-heh-heh!  I'mmmm still forty.  Just like I was yesterday!  Damon's the one getting old.  Lemme just...straighten out my clothes and gather my composure.  I've no idea what my clothes have to do with it, but it's what people do when they're gathering their composure.  You'll have to forgive the Rambler for that little outburst.  Better control is called for in milestone situations like these, right?  And I understand that to rain on Damon's parade that way, would be unwarranted.  So, I'll wait for my birthday when it becomes a case of "It's my birthday and I'll burst if I want to...." -_-  that was soh not a pretty sight.  You know what?  Ima just keep quiet.  Ima sit right here and just say…nothing.

............................................I’m keeping quiet .............................can you hear me keeping quiet?  .................................................... are you there?  .......................................i’m here…………………… not talking.........................this is not working.  I can’t blog and keep quiet at the same time!  How ‘bout this?  How ‘bout I blog first and thennnn keep quiet?

Okiiiiiie-dokes!

As every parent at some point in their lives have said.  And I quote, "Dammmmn. You. Monday!"  Ooops, wrong quote!  The one I meant to use was, "Happy birthday, my sweetheart!  You’re one of the reasons that my life matters."  Now?  See how quickly I was able to fix that?  Lucky for me, I have these quotes at my fingertips.  Just p-please...don't ask me what Winston Churchill once said.  I will look right through you.

Hey guess what?  D'you know what's the most exciting part is?  And scary as hell at the same time?  I'm about to embark on a whole new journey with my boy.  I mean, my young man.  It's my very first time being a teenage boy's mom.  Will I do a good job?  Will he do a good job?  Will I have to keep deducting R10 off his allowance every time he leaves his clothes behind the bathroom door?  Yes!  Until he stops doing it, I shall!

A journey----into the unknowwwwwwn.  Read that in your movie voice.  Sounds mysterious!  It is, though.  I don’t have a clue about what to expect.  Paige is a girl.  I know there has to be some stark differences between how males and females handle these years.  Some advice from the wise and experienced, please?  I'm asking nicely.  Should I begin salting the whip?  And, uhmmm?  Would I be salting it for the teenage girls or my teenage boy?   

Ladies?  And Arnold Schwarzenegger….Raise your hand and shout, "Me, me, me..." If your second birth was twelve thousand times more painful than your first!  Ohhhh no.  I don't mean the epiduralists.  I mean the natural birthists, like myself!  Yeahhhhhhh!  Remember that?  I can't see the look on you're face but I'm preTTy sure that your nostrils are flaring...even if just slightly.  They are, aren't they?  Don't be ashamed.  Pain is sore.  That pain.  Is supernatural.  Which only means that your nostrils have earned official flaring rights! 

Some of you are stealing secret, resentful glares at your second born right now and thinking, "You little pain-inducing bastard, you!"  Stoppp!   That's too far.  Calling them pain-inducing is way too far and not the last memory of you they should be taking to school this morning.  Come on now!  I didn't come here to incite violence or any thoughts that could ultimately lead to a smack upside the heads of unsuspecting offspring, just for old times sake.  It's not even their fault!  All the kid wanted to do was meet you, breath outa water and dry off.  Unless you gave birth to a fish.  

^_^!  Mannnn, it's been such an awesome weekend.  Saturday, he got to spend the day with half the Coloured nation's kids.  That's an exaggeration, ofcourse, but it sure felt that way.  Lol!  They played indoor soccer, him and his buddies and then his dad and his buddies barbequed while the kids circled like hungry vultures until the meat and sausages were ready.  That party, I was told, ended at midnight.  Why I was told?  Because I am in a sense, of sound mind?  I left about three hours before that.  The celebrations then continued yesterday on the soccer grounds with him and his team beating their opponents 5-1.  Whooooop!  And then today?  To end off, we'll have a helicopter fetch him from scho...oh wait?  That's what happens in my mind.  What's happening in reality is that we'll enjoy some cake and tea, seriously deafening verbal exchanges and bouts of raucous laughter with our family and friends.

As I’m typing this, I’m laying here thinking about his toddler antics which went from standing in front of me and lifting his arms saying, "Hold him...hold him."  To him singing on the mic at Leighs 13th birthday party, "Go shawdy, it's ya birthday..." To opening his nursery school graduation play with a solo song, his dance solo at Kent’s party to “Sliiiiiiide to the right…sliiiiiide to the left…five hops this time…”  His lead role with Kirsty in the school play in junior primary, our dance routine we did with Jan and Brandon a few years ago.  So many unforgettable memories.  He's always made me so proud. 

Except for when he leaves his clothes behind the bathroom door. 

But I love him anyway.  Love conquers all.  Even untidy phases.