(photo credit: maround.com)
He was already shoeless and shirtless when he entered the hallway. He’d left his shoes on the porch at the back of the house, his shirt, drenched in sweat, was someplace in the room he’d just come from. He eased his way through the darkness being more careful than he’d ever been. He knew if he so much as stumbled, he would prematurely awaken the only tenant in the bungalow, a beautiful, young female with piercing blue eyes. He’d been enamored with her since the day he’d met her in the hospital ER two years ago. Although he was young, and this would be his first time, he knew he was ready.
He slowly approached the door and pressed his ear to it. When he was satisfied that it was safe to go in, he eased the door open and tipped into the room.
With a sudden sense of urgency and anticipation, he hurriedly exposed himself, stepped up on the stool and urinated in the “big commode” all by himself…for the first time. He couldn’t wait to wake his mommy because he knew she would be so proud of him.
The up and down motion was making me nauseous. The only reprieve was the occasional lull created when he slowed to catch his breath. My inner thighs were sure to be sore and bruised and my legs ached so badly that numbness would have been a welcome sensation. I knew I couldn’t last much longer, but I was afraid of what might happen if I tried to stop him. I also knew that shifting in any direction, to ease my pain, would likely interrupt his rhythm and that would in turn, cause him to lose control.
I guess riding that tandem bike through the streets of San Francisco wasn’t such a good idea after all.
I was sixteen. He, a mere fourteen months my senior. We sat facing one another, my knuckles wrapped tightly around the armrest, his hands lying casually in his lap. Conversation was light, the air around us tense for me, for him, not so much. He smiled mischievously and I, trying to hide the sheer panic creeping through my every vein, returned that smile with what could not have been more than a grimace. Suddenly, his position changed, as did his facial expression. We were no longer eye to eye. It appeared that he was rising, but without standing. From where I was seated and from what I could see between the tears flooding from my eyes, the smile on his face had become a huge grin accompanied by a full fit of laughter.
By the time the plane leveled, my brother had regained his composure while I was still dry heaving into an in-flight barf bag, and my mother was feeding me ice chips and rubbing my neck. I’d never flown before.
So it’s my young teen’s first day back at school. Those of you who follow my blog know my struggles. She’s a 13 year old genius (in her own mind) who would rather than sleep than eat. Anyone who just joined our “already in progress lives” can click on the links below and be brought up to speed—
As I was saying, it’s her first day back at school and while most folks get great “first day back at school” pics, my young teen refused to cooperate this morning. Not only was she not in a great mood, she even said, “ma, can you please not yell all that -have a good day and I love you stuff- when you drive off?” Wow! Yep, my feelings were hurt… but not really. I realize she’e growing up and she’s easily embarrassed.
So, she wouldn’t let me take a “first day…” pic and she didn’t want me to yell out the window— In my quest to be like millions of other parents today and post a pic I decided to share this one…
Can anyone guess the significance?
*hint- I think it has something to do with her grouchy, “first day back” attitude.
I think the score is now tied!! LMAO
Young Teen -1 Old Mom -1
Stay tuned for more episodes of Young Teen V. Old Mom
Old Mom (looking very serious -like she was about to teach her young teen a lesson in life): Jill what is the largest denomination of money?
Young Teen (looking concerned): uhhhh?… $100.00 (looking like -duuuhhhh)
Old Mom (looking a bit disappointed): I didn’t learn that until I was grown- probably about 10 years ago. I actually thought there were five hundred dollar bills and thousand dollar bills.
Young Teen (looking concerned): Mom this isn’t Monopoly
I saw a post earlier this evening in which Christine over at I’m Sick and So Are You talked about people who live in clean houses. Her post brought some things to mind and in my usual humorous and always sarcastic manner I decided to share my thoughts about this subject so here goes:
My house is now, and always will be, clean enough to be healthy but dirty enough to be happy! It will also always be full of love and laughter… It’s not just our living space it’s “Our Lived-in Place”. It’s where we go at the end of the day to hang out together, where putting your feet on the couch is cool and so is eating dinner in the den. The floors are clean enough to walk on — heck that’s what they’re there for right? The walls are painted with semi-gloss paint that can quite easily be wiped clean; after all, how long can little hands resist the urge to touch shiny surfaces? Beds are made at random which is great because they double as trampolines at night and in the cold winter months when playing outside is a no no. The bathrooms? Oh, they are kept spotless…well maybe not spotless, but definitely clean… ok, ok… maybe just tidy, but definitely germ free. As for the kitchen, I don’t allow bags of any type in the fridge and more than 3 takeout boxes in there at the same time is strictly prohibited. Dirty dishes are never left over night… Of the few things not allowed in our place, night crawlers top the list.
Moral of this story: if you’re ever in the neighborhood stop by. Don’t worry about taking your shoes off cause we don’t eat off the floor. If you can’t deal with the idea of eating in the den (off of clean plates… maybe paper, but definitely clean), you may want to go into the kitchen. If you happen to bring your own food and need to refrigerate it be sure and remove any bags first and if there are already three go boxes in the fridge yours will have to wait in line for the next available opportunity. Oh, and we have napkins so please don’t mess up the smeared spaghetti or the pudding that you’ll find throughout the house all over the walls. Also, napping could be hazardous to your health if either of the girls are in a jumping mood (warning: the smallest one often uses my body as an elevated surface to dive from so beware). And lastly, if you sprinkle when you tinkle, please… you know the rest.
Thanks for stopping by ———-
Why are they called “passwords” when the last thing we should do is pass them?