Heir To The Throne

As I'm sitting here contemplating which of two (I know, I know... but I didn't think anyone would mind if I took a week or so away from here) posts to write, it occurs to me that when I describe myself as a big baby when I don't feel well, I'm not exaggerating... like, not even a little.  I've spent the last few days with pain in the neck (literally) known as Strep Throat.  

I feel like the words "Strep Throat" should be accompanied by a fanfare of some sort after the way my butt got kicked.  Actually I'm not sure what the sound should be.  Probably not fanfare, but certainly the suspenseful movie music that let's you know something bad is about to happen (wordies, hook a brotha up will ya?)  I also feel like "WTF, little kids have this all the time, they're up and running in, like, two days".  

Me?  Not so much.  As I write this, I'm about to have my first cup of coffee in four days.

FOUR.  DAYS.

Nectar of the Gods, Buile Mo Chroi, how did I live without you?

OK, slight exaggeration perhaps, but still.  I don't remember the last time I went one day without let alone four.

You want another example?  A pan full of brownies sat on the counter since Saturday night, untouched by me.  

Brownies.

In my very own house.

Since Saturday.

I believe that to be unprecedented.

How unusual is this you might ask?

Each of the preceding images were randomly chosen from the many food pictures I have taken with my phone and these in particular represent lovely chocolate and/or cake based foods that were at least as delicious as they were appealing to look at.  

Brownies lasting that long around me is a huge deal, to say the least. Anyway.

Here's where I decided to start.  

The Heir to the Throne is 13.

Holy crap, how did that happen?  

I mean, I know HOW it happened, but how did it happen?  Good Lord it was just a few weeks ago the Oldest One brought him home.  It's funny, I remember carrying the Oldest One home.  I always will.  It was a very surreal moment for me, but I'll never forget holding this tiny little being up and touching a leaf to her hand and telling her what it was.  The rest of my parenting career may have spiraled out of control, but I nailed that first moment if I do say so myself. I stole that from a movie, btw, maybe Roots, I don't remember.  Like I've said before, I may not be the greatest writer on the planet, but I know when to plagiarize a great line.  

Quick side note... Free wifi is a wonderful thing, but to emphasize "there's no such thing as 'free'" let me just point out that the three teenage knuckleheads that just left my local Pacific northwest based coffee based beverage super-mega global conglomerate (still interested in endorsement opportunities btw) just left because they had found and successfully gotten on my last effing nerve in very short order. 

So yeah, the adorable little protester you see screen left is now a teenager.  Don't get me wrong, especially if any of the other progeny read this, of course I love them all the same and equally.  And yet... I don't think it's out of line to say I love that kid more than anyone else I share bloodlines with.   

OK, maybe not more.  But it's... different with the first.  And I'm not sure I can put that into words. 

And, as I sit here trying to craft the words to describe that sentiment, I'm getting flooded with memories.  Memories of each of them.  From the Oldest One on down through the Beatle Baby and all the ones that haven't gotten a nom de guerre from me yet.  And, while I'm not about to start spilling my guts on every cute/embarrassing/frustrating/endearing thing any of them have done, I don't think I'm out of line with the remarks.

It's different with the first.  Not necessarily better, though often it is.  The decisions are better researched and more safety based whereas each additional child gets proportionally less safety and more reality based decisions -

First child *Here sweetie, let Daddy clean that apple better
Second child *Rub that apple on your shirt, it'll shine right up
Third child *It's a small worm, you'll be fine

So yeah, it's safe to say I love all of my grandkids without fail and without question.  And it's also safe to say that, even if I got to see every one of them, every day of my life, that wouldn't be enough.  

So, the teenager (God that sounds weird) has started life as a 7th grader.  He'll be driving in three years,  Three.  That's for the Oldest One, in case you wondered... And then, three years after that, college.  But that's what happens with life.  It goes on.  

OK, before this whole thing spins into one hot mess, let me just say he's the sweetest, most thoughtful kid I know.  He cherishes those that are important to him and for having spent such short time on this planet, he's had to deal with a lot of loss.  More than most adults I know.  He's a great kid and his Mother has done a great job raising him.  

And if I could pass on some advice to him (I know, I can, I'm just using this as a vessel) I'll tell him to enjoy each and every day.  Enjoy his friends and his time with them.  Work hard.  But take time to play too. You need both.  Be safe, always, be safe.  And you can strike out without ever taking the bat off your shoulder, but you'll never get a hit that way.

Is that enough grandfatherly advice?  God I hope so because I suck at it, Yeesh.  

So, from the "apple doesn't fall far from the tree" department and to try and wrap this whole trainwreck together, last spring I took him to DC for spring break.  We did some sight-seeing, some touristy stuff and had a great time.  He even gave a reasonable answer to the question of what he liked best (Air and Space Museum), but when pressed for what he REALLY liked best about DC do you know what his answer was?

Ben's Chili Bowl

I love that kid.

I don't btw.

See every one of them every day, that is.

That's something I need to work on.