A Girls Night, Inside Out!
Taking a Backseat

Must Remember, Don't Call Him Baby

My son turned 14, this week.  The same kid who was 4 and just entering pre-school for the first time when I started blogging.  So, forgive me but, I'm going to sit here and let that sink in for a few seconds.


There, much better.  Wait, seems I'm not quite finished, not yet.


Seriously, kids grow, they get older (as do we, dammit) and so we carry on, as most parents do.  We live our lives and try really hard not to injure, maim or otherwise harm each other (too badly), business as usual, right?!?

So, you think I would get over myself and quit getting all...you know...my baybeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees are soooooooooooooooo grown, already.

Not the baby!
Still, he IS my only son and I am getting better at realizing that my baby...ahem, I mean that guy up there...is probably much more interested in impressing a girl and more likely to be embarrassed by his mother.

My girls, not so much.

The night of his birthday, we ALL decided to go to my son's wrestling meet -- much to his surprise, too.  His sisters don't usually enjoy watching middle-schoolers getting their faces planted into some 8th grader's armpit, they're funny like that.

Me?  I cover my eyes.  Much less painful to watch.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Aaaaaanyway, we piled onto the last remaining bleacher (who knew middle school wrestling was SO popular, eh?) and settled ourselves directly in front of a bunch of 8th grade girls.

I learned a few very important lessons, that night.  For example, 8th grade girls today:

  • Have no trouble dropping the f-bomb
  • Especially, in front of OTHER parents
  • And their teachers
  • Very, very LOUDLY
  • 8th grade girls are NOT like I remember

Long story, short (you're welcome!)  they stayed long enough to watch one of their boyfriends wrestle and then left.

 [cue choir of angels]

Aaaaand, it's not just me...shaking my virtual cane, again...my older girls were enraged...EN-friggin-RAGED...because, apparently, one of them happened to mention her interest in my son.

Noooooo, I didn't hear it, because I'm observant like that and I was too busy covering my eyes.

Later, on the drive home, the girls were describing the 8th graders to my son and it suddenly occurred to me:   they were actually interrogating their brother.

"Soooooo, did you, like, you know, recognize any of them, or anything?!?"

You know, so as to gauge his interest in the possibility of ever, ever, NEVER dating one of them (EVER!) and his sisters were being much, much more subtle about it than I would have.

"Nope, those girls are stupid."

[sound of angels, weeping]

I'm not sure if my son was being casual, or evasive about it (he's 14, enough said) either way, I quickly interjected something about individual maturity levels developing at different rates...yada, yada, yada...when what I was really saying is "DAMN SKIPPY!" in my head, anyway.

"Nope, they're just stupid."

At least, this week anyway.

"Aaaaand, one of them just texted me."

 [one beat, two beats]

"How the HECK did she get my number?"

Even longer story, shorter (seriously, almost done!) here's something else I learned:

  • 8th grade girls have no problem asking a boy, for ANOTHER boy's number.

Aaaaaand, then send derogatory texts to that same boy...when they are dissed...while he is STILL in the car...with his mother.  So, forgive me but, I'm going to sit here and let that sink in for minute.


There, much better.  Wait, seems I'm not quite finished, not yet.

Texting:  oh, sorry, this is his mom, he left his cell phone in the car again, but I'll be glad to give him the message and please be sure to say hello to your mother for me. Kbai.

NOW, I'm done.

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