I remember when I first became the mother of a teenager -- which, considering my oldest girl is 18 now (SOB!) truly is an amazing thing (that I even remember it, I mean!)
Then my middle girl turned 13 and, well, any thoughts of my ever regaining full brain function flew right out the front door, along with the Christmas tree.
Today, at precisely 2:05 a.m., my son joined the ranks of teenage-dom and not for nothing (word to Jenn) this time, it's different.
I have to tell the boy to scootch down in order to scold him and, well, that's just not right, you know?
I'm 5' 9". Enough said.
CURRENT COUNT: Teens outnumber tweens 3 to 1 (HALP!) the latest having grown very adept at out-grossing his sisters with very realistic sounding fart noises during a sleepover with a few of his AXE-infused buddies, this past weekend.
At least, I think they were pretending. I was too busy trying not to puke and/or keep my head from exploding. I still don't think the girls are quite over it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and scrape a few of my brain cells from off of the ceiling and THEN maybe I can figure out a way to convince my 10 year-old daughter that burping the alphabet, during dinner with her grandparents, is SO NOT funny.
According to my son, blowing milk out of your nose during a conversation and pretending like it is NOT EVEN happening is way funnier.
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