Just an average day

The 13 year old featured in my entry today is about to turn 23 in a few months, this is a (now) happy memory from a decade ago. 
 
Why, why, WHY do my children have to be Olympic quality patience testers sometimes?

Let me begin by saying the removal of a beer by a 13 year old from the kitchenette we have in our master suite was only a point of light on the milky way that has been my whole darn day.
We've had a LONG day--starting with my being called in to rework a flip flapping report that my new manager decides, after 153 weeks of the OLD way of doing the report, that he wants it completely redone a new way. And done by 5 p.m. Sunday. Oh, and this lovely nugget of information was shared with me 30 minutes after I finished the weekly report FOR SOMEONE ELSE this last Friday.  Joy.

Okay, so I drive uptown, drop Jackson at the state chess tournament (whole other story for another day!), work for several hours, contact EVERY lead who hasn't signed and hasn't told me to jump in a lake to let them know about all the great things happening at IRW since I last spoke with them (I am LOVING this as a reason to contact them, BTW), realize I am BARELY going to make it to the appt I have with the new events coordinator at Michael's and have to light fires under Nick and Carter to get them out the door.

You may be asking yourself, 'She seems bright enough so WHY would she take a cranky teen (the pod people brought the original version back a few weeks ago!) and her husband with her? Because the plan I devised and CAREFULLY reviewed with them THREE times was for them to go sports equipment shopping (truly, I'd rather have a root canal done!), exchange my mixer for the new color, go to the batting cages and then come back to get me, go have a lovely bite to eat and come home and watch a movie and wait for the chess coach to bring Jackson home.  

That was the theory, here is the actuality.

Went to Michael's and had an EXCELLENT meeting--the woman was SO TOTALLY into every idea and class I was pitching to her. I had to look closely to make sure it was not my own mother in theatrical make-up! Truly, I think I could have said we were going to set fire to the store and this woman would have said "Glorious, just glorious. Shall we have marshmallows for the spectators?" She was just LOVING me and I was LOVING that!

My time with her ends and I tell her I'm going to start with new class projects right then and there. She, of course, is LOVING this idea! I pull whatever I want from the shelves (truly, I had to pinch myself!) and got to work. Two altered tins with handmade inserts later, thank you very much, I look up to see Nick in the doorway. "Is your meeting over? Why haven't you come out? We've been in the car forEVER."

I remind him that forever is not contained in the sum of 93 minutes, which is EXACTLY how long I've been in Michael's and ask how long they have actually been waiting and why, if they were done with everything, had they not come in to get me.  "Daddy came in and couldn't find you."  Okay, so I'm thinking a 35 year old man can't find me so he sends a 13 year old boy to do it instead? Honestly!  So I tell Nick I am going to need 10 minutes to clean up and then we can head out. "Fine. I'll go and tell him you are here. See you in the car."

Get out to car and Carter is pouting. Full on, lip showing, pouting.  I see the wrong color mixer in the car.  I realize Nick's clothing is clean and utterly sweat free. I ask why they haven't been to the batting cage or Williams Sonoma.  "We've been out here waiting for you for the past 93 minutes." WHAAAAAT!?  I inquire as to the change of plans and both of them look at me, utterly incredulous. Carter finally says "Well I didn't think you meant actually go and leave you here without a car. I didn't think you'd be very long."  Ah, yes, I will put in a call to the telepathy helpdesk immediately as my mind-reading powers are CLEARLY out of order today.  I mention that I was in the same classroom I am always in at Michael's and don't know why Carter couldn't find me. "Well, I didn't look in there. I looked in the store." Suspicious, I ask where he looked. The answer? "Well, you weren't in the first two aisles of the scrapping stuff, so I thought you went to Bed, Bath and Beyond to look at the clearance stuff. But you weren't there."  Clearly.

Okay--so I realize that now I get to go run all over creation on these additional errands. Fun, FUN, FUN!

So I take into consideration that a hungry, recently been waiting Carter is a grumbly Carter and that Nick should probably eat before practice at this point--so off to the Chinese restaurant we go. Enjoy dinner, come home, Carter has to attend to the dogs and decides he is too pooped to pop--but of course there is still popping to be done.  So back into the car with Nick, head to the batting cages, find that his gear from last year when he was merely 5'11" tall and only 190ish pounds is now MUCH too small for my 6'3" 258 lb. son.  And his 2 pc. catcher mask/helmet is now 'illegal' for anyone under 18 to use in sport and he has to go with the integrated hockey style. And his bat needs to be upgraded. And he needs a new catcher mitt. Chest pad is WOEFULLY too small. And he needs new pants. And he really should have an impact resistant batting glove.  And his Knee-Aids are shot.  The only thing that still works for him is his cup. The 10.00 item. Not the 200.00 mask. Not the 279.00 bat (and that IS the sale price). Not the 119.00 mitt. Not the 89.00 chest pad, not even the 35.00 batting glove. Nope--the 10.00 jockstrap still works fine and ding dang dandy.  

Big whoop. 

So we come home and Jackson is in tears because the worst possible thing has happened and he can barely get it out, he is sobbing so much.  Carter says he can't understand at that frequency...Jackson was so shrill he sounded like a hearing aid that had gone berserk!  Finally I learn the horrible news. He was beaten, BADLY, in the 3rd round. By a lower ranked player. And a girl. Who is only a 4th grader.  Truly, for a pride-filled and highly competitive 5th grade boy, it doesn't get any worse than this without having your pants pulled down in front of a large number of people who know you and are taking photos while pointing and laughing. Truly.
So I tell Carter that either I get to go up in my office and have some computer time or I am going to run away from home for a day and he says fine, he'll get the boys in bed.  

Not 5 minutes later there is a knock at my door. Nick wants to come in. He wants to relive the excitement of his purchases.  He tells me not to worry about his upcoming birthday.  I take this to mean that he is wanting his baseball gear as an early gift.  I say "Nicholas Alexander, you are my first born son. I am not going to simply count this equipment as your birthday gift! For heaven sake--you'll be getting a gift from Daddy and me."  He looks at me with such an incredulous face that I almost wonder if there is a meteor hurtling towards me, visible in the window behind me, ready to crash and burn in the next nano-second.  "Oh gee Mom, I would never think you'd not get me (note the plural) gifts.  I was thinking you could just not worry about mailing my invitations on Monday, I asked Daddy to do it."  Ah, yes. 

How silly of me, it is ALL about a 13 year old boy and NOT the hokey pokey, as I was lead to believe growing up.

So after I bid him goodnight he says he is thirsty, and could he get a Fruit2o out of the fridge Carter and I keep bedside, stocked with little treats.  I say sure, why not. And shut the door behind you when you leave.  I hear him fiddling in there and finally I get "You are out of what I wanted, I'll take a Newcastle out of your fridge. Is that okay?"

Now this is when nearly 14 years of parenting pays off. My antennae are about to visibly pop out of my head--this is a critical moment. It could be a tug of war that will subtract 5 years from a mother's life, or it can be a moment to make the kid go "HUH!?".  I choose the latter.
"Sure thing, just make sure that bottle makes it into the recycle bin." 

"Mom, are you not even listening to me. Newcastle is a BEEEEEER!"  Shocking, amazing, I've been buying a 6 pack a week for as long as I can recall and NOW I know it is beer. Thank you oh great one!

"Yes, Nick, I am clearly in the know that Newcastle is, indeed, beer.  If you really want one, go for it. I don't think you'll like it and once you open it you have to finish it, you can't be wasteful and Daddy won't want one this late, so it is up to you."

He pokes his head around the corner and I can JUUUUUUUUUUUST see him out of the corner of my eye. I will myself not to let him think I can see him.

"Mom, seriously, that would be the stupidest thing ever. You can't let me drink a BEER, it could stunt my growth! I don't even think I'd like it. Gee...you are no fun tonight." YIPPEEE! I wasn't going for the fun factor, I was going for the 'your Dad said he'd put you to bed and clearly thought simply saying go to bed equated getting you IN BED!'

So he put the beer back, takes a diet Pepsi and says "Goodnight Mom, if that really is who you are. I'll see you in the morning."

I was thinking that would be the last of him...I was wrong...not 5 minutes later he is back. "You really wouldn't have let me drink that would you?"
"No Nick, I really wouldn't, but you made the decision on your own to put it back, not really knowing WHAT I would do, huh?"
He smiled, came over to hug me and said "Hey, before I go, do you have 20 bucks on you?"
"GO!" and he left and I heard him laughing in the hall as he headed to his room and called out a sweet goodnight to the two other chromosonally challenged members of our household and shut his door.  

I wonder when he'll stop having that boyish laugh that makes me giggle every time I hear it. The laugh he's always had. His voice is beginning to change, and like my brothers, I know he'll develop a deep laugh to go with that soon to be deep voice--but I cherish that sweet little boy laugh he has so much...hearing it is like an amazing trip in the WayBack machine--I can actually see him in freeze frame flashes; 10 months, 2, 4 and 7 years in my mind's eye.  

I guess you never know when the last of something is, until it isn't any longer.