God help me.
Mini-Marli, Sr. turned 13 yesterday (the day after I turned 29 again, incidentally). “What do you want for your birthday?” I asked him.
“Can I get my ear pierced?” he said.
Since I am a cool mom, as well as a mom who is usually operating on less than 5 hours of sleep, I figured what the hell? So we trucked on down to Wally World, I signed the little piece of paper assuring the store I would not hold them responsible in case of death or dismemberment, and the deed was done. Sunny Jim now has a kewl new hole in his head.
“Dad’s gonna kill me,” he said on the way back. He sounded both delighted and apprehensive.
“I’ll deal with your father,” I said. So when we got home I grabbed the phone and dialed up the Dink (not his real name, and not one I use within hearing of the young’un, but I find it curiously apt).
“Are you picking up the boy next weekend?” I asked him.
“Yeah, I was planning on it,” Dink said.
“Okay. He’s a little worried about coming down.”
“Why?”
“He’s afraid you’re going to yank his new earring out of his ear.”
Pause.
“I don’t approve of that,” he said.
“It’s his ear.”
“My dad’s not going to like it, either,” he persisted.
“Hey, remember when we were kids and everybody wore those big clunky earrings with skulls and snakes and stuff?” (It was the 80s. We were headbangers. We outgrew it.)
“I didn’t approve of it then, either.” (True, he’s never had his ear pierced. He wore a clip-on.)
“Well, that’s what he wanted for his birthday so that’s what I got him.”
Dink sighed. “I won’t say anything to him.”
“Good.”
“Dad’s really not going to like it, though.”
Whatever.
So in a single day I went from being the proud owner of a pre-adolescent little boy to being the keeper of a pierced teenager who is already talking about having another hole added once this one heals up. On less than 5 hours of sleep.
How’s your day been?