Thirteen

I am now the parent of a teenager. For the next ten years and six weeks we will have at least one teenage boy living in our house. Not that I'm counting or anything.

Friday night the teens and tweens descended on our domicile in all their pimply, squeaky-voiced, nearly man-sized glory and ate everything they found in our kitchen. The six boys managed to eat two pizzas, several bags of chips, about a dozen popsicles, a box of cinnamon sticks, and two batches of homemade (by Dan, of course) pancakes. It was kind of like a car wreck--horrifying to watch, but I couldn't look away.

They built a Lego battle ship, played several games of Guitar Hero, had an air hockey competition, a darts tournament, and chased each other through the house for hours in some big, complicated Nerf gun battle, which resulted in a broken door. I don't want to know how. After Dan got home from his gig at 12th & Porter last night, I tagged him as the P.O.D. (Parent on Duty) and fell asleep. I'm pretty sure the kids went to sleep at some point, but I can't prove it.

There were a few real conversational gems last night:

1) Thirteen said, "I hate when you drink Sprite and then burp. I feel like I just tasered my nose."

2) [While building a Lego Star Wars Turbo Tank in his bedroom]
13: No fighting or farting in my room.
Boy 1: Too late.
13: Okay, no MORE farting in my room.
Boy 2: [toot sound, followed by giggling] Too late again.
13: What? Were you people raised by wolves?
Boys: [more giggling, more toot sounds]
13: Remind me why I invited you guys over again.

3) [the next morning]
Me: Boys, your moms are going to be picking you up at 10:00.
Boy 1: When's 10?
Dan and I, in unison: Um, after 9.
Me: You guys all met in Search class, right?

As uncertain as I am about what the teen years will bring, I am confident that Ryan will continue to be the great, wonderful, annoying, smart, and sensitive kid he's always been.