I’m not a teenager

After the boys got off the bus, they got in the car with me to run to the store. While we were driving, I asked the boys how their days were.

Radcliffe, clearly disappointed, responded with, “Well, I found out I’m not a teenager.”

Me: “Really?”

Radcliffe: “Yeah. You’re having a birthday soon, does that mean you’re a teenager?”

Theodore chimed in with: “No, she’s a grownup.”

Radcliffe: “Oh, her wrinkles must mean she’s old like 100.”

Nice.

Then, I hear Theodore talking himself through his homework. He says, “Digital and analog. My dad is digital, my mom is analog.”

Jesus. It gets better.

We get home, I give them a bath and they get dressed for bed. Radcliffe sits down on my leg and starts to fart. Really loud. Really juicy.

Ugh. I put him off of my knee and he says, “Mom, you really are the big cheese to me. I love you.”

Me: “Awe, I love you, too!”

I hug him and as I look over his shoulder, I see his fingers are crossed.

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