...No, not you. YOU, El Chupacabra!
1. You are the smartest human I know. Ok, but that’s not the thing. The thing is that you don’t need for people to know how smart you are. And we’ve known a lot of douchebaggy people that think they’re smart and want everyone to know how smart they are and mostly I just feel embarrassed for them, in part, because you’ve let them treat you like you’re a big, dumb, jock/cop/construction worker without telling them that you were invited to join Mensa in high school, or that you were an Academic Decathlon geek, or that you were, like, the only athlete living in the Freshman honors dorm in college, or that you studied Math and Engineering while also playing football with a wife and baby at home. And then, when you bust out with some super nerd jargon, or when you whomp ass in a game of RISK, or whatever, everybody acts all surprised and you’re just like, “What...?”
2. You smell AMAZING. And I know if I said that out loud you’d say “Thank you, I just farted.” Which is a super lame joke but still makes me chuckle. But really...amazing...
3. A loooong time ago you took me across the California state line into Nevada, and we’ve been crossing all kinds of lines, borders, and boundaries together ever since. And I never would have had the guts to do any of it without you. And now we’re missionaries and everything and in some ways I totally owe that to you. (I know that sometimes I say that as if I’m blaming you for something really awful, but usually I mean it like I’m thanking you for something really great.)
4. You’re cool. No... for real.
5. You’ve gotten really good at apologizing when you’re wrong. And not freaking out when I should be apologizing when I’m wrong but I don’t because I’m still trying to get as good at it as you.
6. In the past 3 years I’ve said to you again and again, “But... you don’t know how to do that.”...”You don’t know how to weld.”, “You don’t know how to build furniture, from like, trees.”, “You don’t know how to surf.”, “You don’t know how to speak Spanish.”, “You don’t know how to coach a football team.” And then you’ve gone and done all those things, plus a million more. And I love that you’re not intimidated by anything, ever....
7. But even more I love that you’ve taught me how to be a learner. And you’ve encouraged me again and again, by saying “You can learn to do that.”.... “You can learn how to make flan.”, “You can learn to speak Spanish.”, “You can learn how to write a blog.” “Maybe you can learn to use punctuation properly.”
8. You make chinese fried rice, and it is awesome.
9. You tell me I’m pretty when I look like Oscar the Grouch took a steamy dump on my head. And I know I act like I’m all mad, but really? I love that you love me best when I’m a hot mess.
10. We like most of the same TV. That’s a pretty big deal relationshipnally.
11. You don’t care that I make up new words all the time and use them as if no one notices. And you didn’t correct me for 15 years while I said “For all intensive purposes.” Which might annoy some people, but to me just says that you know what matters and you don’t get bent out of shape about what doesn’t.
12. You can laugh at yourself.
13. You can laugh at me.
14. We can laugh at us together.
15. The other night when you were outside at 11pm killing massive amounts of cockroaches with cancer causing poison, I was struck, once again, by how you are always willing to take on the biggest, dirtiest, worst jobs.... and maybe that’s how you ended up with me 16 years ago. And I thanked God for you.
16. Um. That thing I said yesterday? About the way you took off your shirt.... Yeah, you still do that, and it still makes me bite my bottom lip. ;)
Happy 16th Anniversary. Here’s to another...however-many-you-can-take. Cheers!
...It’s kind of like 16 years ago today, in a ceremony that lasted 12 minutes and included a three month old baby in a velvet, one-piece tuxedo, an Ox was yoked together with a Chihuahua. You're the ox; Strong, smart and capable. I'm the chihuahua; Yappy, annoying, and bug-eyed (and most of the time, you just wanna throw it under a passing car.)
See? Ugh. This is so hard!! (yes, we'll all wait while you insert your moronic joke here: __________________) So then I tried this:
The first time I saw you, you were taking off your shirt. But not how normal people do it, like, one arm at a time. No. You reached both arms over your head and pulled it up from the back... all sexy like.
You were stripping because everybody wanted to see your first tattoo (so new it was still covered in plastic wrap and vaseline). And this was way before everyone and their grandma went and got a corny tribal arm band. It was before tramp stamps and shoulder fairies and ankle dolphins and it was before everybody got a chinese proverb on their butt or wherever. It was almost as if you were the first person on the face of the planet to get a tattoo, the way everyone was looking at you like you were crazy. You were like 18 and a day. And so cute.
But I didn’t actually meet you that day. I just saw you from behind, taking your shirt off like a Chip-n-Dale dancer. And I liked it.....a lot.
I always thought it was weird that Superman liked Lois Lane. I mean, he was freaking Superman. And she was this sort of average, boring, snotty chick with a crappy car and an icky voice. Ridiculous.
Yeah. I actually wrote "ridiculous" and felt embarrassment when I tapped out that little gem.
What am I gonna do???
You pretty much know, when you’re 17 and the pee stick says “+”, that you’ve severely effed up your own life.
But, once you decide not to have an abortion and after you conclude that you are, in fact, too selfish to give your baby up for adoption, you move on. You quit wallowing in self despair, and you get used to the idea that you are going to shove a human outta your girl-howdy, and that human will be your kid, and that kid will be just fine in your loving hands.
No harm, no foul.... or something like that.
At least that’s how it went for me; I got knocked up at 17 and everything turned out just fine. True story. I mean, yeah, it wasn’t ideal to have a child when I was still, well... a child.... But it worked out. I mean, I don’t recommend it, and I NEVER would have planned it that way, but I can’t really complain about how it’s all gone down for me. Naturally, yes, there have been consequences. It’s been a tough road at times, but I’ve always felt that by God’s grace I’ve come through the slutty missteps of my youth relatively unscathed. Then, last year, on Mother’s Day, when my oldest son gave me a hand made card that said, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! Thanks for not aborting me!”, I felt reassured that he’d survived the trial and error (but mostly error) of having been raised by very young, very stupid parents, pretty much unharmed as well.
I can honestly say that I never really felt like I ruined his life by having him when I was so young. I didn’t really think that our relatively short age difference was gonna mess with his head in unimaginable ways.
But I was wrong. So very wrong....
See, the thing is, my baby boy is 16 now, and he’s 6’ 3”, and he wears chops down to his jaw, soooo he’s like... a man. And I never stopped buying my clothes at Forever 21.
So we went to the mall the other day, just the two of us, and when we were in the foodcourt I was like, “Jeez, what is wrong with these people?! Do you feel like we’re getting stared at? Like, more than usual...” And he was all, “Um. Yeah.” And I was like, “What is the deal? Sheesh, now I’m getting dirty looks from that crew of grannies over there by Taco Bell!” And my son said, “Mom” and he shoved exactly half of a Subway sandwich in his mouth, “They’re staring because they’re trying to figure out what’s going on here.” and his index finger wagged back and forth between us, “Those old ladies? They think you’re a dirty cougar....” And then he just finished eating, as if he hadn’t uttered the most disturbing thing in the world.
And I started to get all kinds of mad at the creepers who were staring at us, staring at me, and trying to pervert the love of a young hot Mother and her son by making me into something that I wasn’t. A cougar. Pshhhh....
And then I started to feel really bad for my son. Because, seriously?, that is messed up.
No teenage boy should ever have people looking at him as though he is actually on a date with his Mom..... Ew. Ew. Ew. No. Never. That should never happen.
And I wanted to be really pissed off at the jerks that kept looking at us funny, but the truth is that I’m the one that messed it all up for him. I think I’m the pervert. No, not because I still shop at Forever 21. It’s because, when I was young, I thought the only way to show a boy that I liked him was by having sex with him. So I did. And then, duh, I got pregnant. And, in a nutshell, that’s all just a huge perversion of God’s plans for love, and sex, and bringing kids into the world and stuff. Having people judge me, and unfairly assume that I am a cougar is simply an extended consequence of my earlier lameness. Sadly, my son also has to live with the repercussions of having a Mom that is kind of a retard.
Sooo.... I’m a pervert, and I have officially ruined my kid's life. There. I said it.
But the other part of the truth is that my son will probably be just fine. Despite me, to spite me, or in spite of me, he’ll turn out alright.
Anyway, where was I going with all this......?