Friday, September 25, 2009

On Bringing up a PERFECT teenager...

I know....I'm a great mom! Right?



I mean, how else could I have a perfect kid? He doesn't argue back, he does what he's told. He asks once. He doesn't question me.



Either I'm a perfect mom with a perfect kid, or else he's TERRIFIED of me.



For real. I think he's probably terrified of me. But, shoot I would be terrified of me too.



I have an evil eye that could MAKE. YOU. CRY!



Seriously. Momma'll take care of that. What babe? So-and-so is teasing you about being smart? Momma'll take care of that with her EVIL EYE!



Today my son is THIRTEEN years old.



My boy, born with a serious mullet and a conehead. He cried possibly three minutes and then he was content! See, perfect from birth.



He could walk at 9 momths, he could talk full sentences at 18 months. (IT WAS WEIRD I tell ya!) He could hold a conversation with an adult BEFORE he turned two. Sheesh. My perfect talker.



He also had sleep apnea and was hooked up to a machine from about 18 months until he turned three and he could have surgery. His surgery was supposed to be an hour, but lasted three. He woke up crying softly asking for momma. When I came up to him, he said to me in a perfect throaty voice, "Momma, they're trying to make me eat pudding. I want a cheeseburger."



We have A LOT of video from when he was growing up. My mom and dad's ONLY boy, and their FIRST grandchild, can you imagine how much video we have of him.



He was perfect. He never cried. He played quietly. He built age 12+ legos when he was three. He smiled a lot and was scared of puppies. He ran with the punches. My perfect toddler.



My baby. For a long time it was just my baby and me. He ate Top Ramen with me when we were broke. He walked with me to the sitter in the middle of winter when we didn't have a ride. He lived in low-income housing with me and slept with me on my childhood twin sized bed. My perfect sleeper.



He spoke Inupiaq and English, he Eskimo danced and watched Ren & Stimpy. He owned three guns before he was three. He knew exactly how to clean them and take care of them and shoot animals. My perfect Hunter.







He attended an Inupiaq Immersion school, then a Christian school, then skipped the 4th grade when he finally went to the Public School. He's still in AP classes. My perfect student.



He takes care of his sister and protects her and lets her crawl into bed with him. He feeds her breakfast and makes sure she did her homework and gives a great stink eye to kids who bother her on the playground. My perfect older brother.



When I flip a lid (because I've been known to do that) and yell at someone to "Clean the KITCHEN right now, I didn't work all day to come home to a dirty kitchen" and leave, I come home to see him washing dishes by hand. When he runs out of socks, he puts them in the washer and I frequently find all my socks and the other kids socks and Dean's socks washed and dried. My perfect cleaner.







When I come home from work, he asks quietly if he can play out/go hunting/go for a bike ride and I say yes, he gives me the sweetest smirky smile and says, "Thanks mom." My perfect son.







So, Happy birthday Koy. I know I'm not perfect, but so far in life, YOU ARE.

1 comment:

Summer said...

Dude... I want a Koy!