The Coolest 16 Year Old Guy I know

See that guy right there?  That would Scooter, Brian’s son.  I took that picture the day I met him.  He’d just finished his last race of the day.  In August.  It was H-O-T hot.

Scooter didn’t like me much when we first met.  But really, who could blame him.  I was a new person in Dad’s life, someone taking Dad’s attention away.

It would be months before Scooter and I became friends.  Brian’s dad was in the hospital and I came to stay with the kids over spring break so Brian and his mom could be with his Dad.  And even though Princess could demand every second of my attention, I made it a point to spend time with just Scooter.  Playing catch with him in the basement. I sealed our friendship by catching a baseball with my face.

Today Scooter turns 16.  Even though his dad and I are no longer together, Scooter still holds a special place in my heart.  He is beyond a doubt the coolest 16 year old I know.  Some of my best memories are of the two of us hanging out cutting up.

Like the time Brian sent us to the outbuilding to get the fishing poles ready for our fishing trip the next day and we ended up hosing down the floor and squeegee-ing the floor clean.  Fishing poles? Oh yeah, we were getting to those.

Scooter helped me move more times than either of us like to count.  It was hot, hard work, but with Scooter, it was fun.  And it got done.

So, Scooter, even though I am no longer the best future step-mom in the entire world, I am still thinking about you today Bud, and I’m wishing you eleventy-billion birthday wishes.

You totally rock my world.

 

Your birthday is a special time to celebrate the gift of 'you' to the world.

 

Happy 14th Birthday Taterbug

14 years ago you changed my our lives. Not just my life, but your Dad’s and even your brother’s lives.

14 years ago you took your own sweet time getting here.  You kept me up all night, doing things at your own pace.  Which is never in a hurry.  Unless it’s shopping?  That? You’re a pro. (Get a job, help pay for that shit you think you have to have!)

You look at the world through hopeful eyes.  You believe in the good in everyone.  Except your younger sister. Unless of course you want to borrow some of her clothes.

My time with you is growing short.  Already you are making noise about learning to drive.  Two short years from now.  Don’t rush the next 24 months.  Once we reach 16? It’s just a blink of an eye and you’re gone.  I’m not done with you  yet.

You have made me proud beyond words.  You excel at everything you put your mind to.  Your grades? Honor Roll.  The teachers and staff at school? Sing your praises.  Your phone? Constantly in use talking to your friends.  I have seen a gymnasium full of classmates stop mid conversation to run over and say HI to you.

You have gone above and beyond with our neighbors. Your patience and kindness has opened new doors for our neighbor by helping him learn to read.

Your sense of humor? Kicks my ass.  You make me laugh every day.  You get it.  You are not afraid to laugh and joke, and you’re more than happy to me the clown just to get a laugh.

You feel deeply.  If someone hurts, you hurt with them.  If they are angry, you’ll pick up your sword and fight beside them.  If someone is being a douchenozzle, you’re right there calling them a douchenozzle. Usually not to their face… but still.

In a strange twist of fate, you have an incredible amount of faith and belief in me. Even when I have little for myself.  And living up to your expectations for me as your mother?  Is what keeps me trying and striving and reaching.

Don’t be in a hurry to grow up, Tate, because I’m not in any hurry to let you go.  We’ll have plenty of time to be friends when you’re older.  Enjoy your teen years now.  Be a kid, laugh, play, dance, sing, live and love.

Because, you are loved.

Happy Birthday Taterbug.

It's a numbers game

In a week I will put another year between me and 40.  My birthdays don’t bother me so much.  Can’t stop them from coming.  It’s just another year I’ve survived.

I was 4 years old when I finally figured out when my mother’s birthday was.  I was proud as punch that I knew that “Today is my mom’s birthday”.  I told everyone in church that day that it was her birthday.  Of course, just because I knew what day it was, I had no idea how old she was.  So, when someone asked me that inevitable question “How old is she?”, instead of admitting I didn’t know, I just sort of guessed.  To me, at 5, everyone lived to be 100.  Nice even round number.  In the scheme of things, and in relation to 100…. well…uh, 40 wasn’t that old or that big of a number.  I proudly told everyone who asked, “She’s 40 years old!”  (sorry Mom)

She was 24.  She wouldn’t be 40 until I was 21.

Oops.

My mom married young and had us kids young.  Growing up I wanted to be just like her.  Until i got closer to the age she was when she married my dad.  As I approached that age, I realized there was no way I was ready to get married and have a child.  I was too young.  I would be 4 years older before I got married, and two years beyond that when I had my son.  Even then, I was pretty sure I was too young.

I remember my 13th birthday, how excited I was to finally be an official teenager.  I couldn’t wait for my birthday that year.  Until my cousin took the wind out of my sails by telling me my birthday that year was no big deal, it was just another day, like any other day.  I would be the same, look the same, feel the same, I would just be one year older.   I was mad at him for taking the shine off my 13th birthday, but he was right.  It was just another day, like any other day. It was only special to me, but I looked the same, sounded the same, felt the same, was the same, except I was another year older.

From that year on, my birthdays never really bothered me.  The number of years celebrated was just that, a number.  My younger brother’s birthday’s didn’t bother me either.  Besides, I don’t care what his number is, he never ages in my mind.  My (baby) sister’s birthdays make me feel older than my own.

I was always convinced no matter how many years had passed from the day I was born, I would never be “too old” to wear blue jeans and tees.  The day I got ‘too old’ for jeans would be the day I was just too old.   So, come next Saturday, as the country gears up to celebrate our nation’s birthday, I will be celebrating yet another year survived, another year put between me and 40.

And I will be celebrating in blue jeans and a tee shirt.