Thursday, January 30, 2014

Thirteen

If you're a regular visitor to The Lyons Din, you'll notice a few changes around here.

I've updated my bio just a bit so you have a little better idea of who I am and what you're dealing with. It's shorter. More to the point. I tried to be brief.

There just isn't room to tell you all that I am a crazy woman who is still dealing with the fact that I got laid off from the job I love last year, who has tried to find something new with her life but keeps getting stuck in quicksand, who now spends her days waiting for her mother-in-law, who still chases high school boys (and girls) with her digital recorder and writes for anyone who will pay me to do so.

Who has a husband who cheats on me with his mistress named Baseball; a kooky mama who, despite being 80 years old, commutes from the suburbs to the French Quarter of New Orleans where she reads Tarot cards and tea leaves for locals and tourists alike (and if you're famous, she probably won't recognize you); a very cranky live-in mother-in-law who requires much care, much patience and many drugs; two grown step children I didn't mess up too badly and who have grown into fine, upstanding (mostly) adults;

And a teenager.

Wait. What?

Yes. A teenager.

On Sunday, January 26th, my baby girl transitioned from the Snarky Tween to, officially, a Snarky Teenager.

Lord help me.

Not that much will change, mind you. Regardless of her biological age, she's had this whole snarky thing down for quite a while. She has perfected the eye roll, the "tsk," the smirk and the foot stomp (she doesn't really slam doors because, well, that's sorta my thing), the staying up 'till dawn and sleeping til 3 in the afternoon thing,  the unmade bed thing and the dirty clothes all over the floor thing, the eating nothing but macaroni and cheese thing.

 But I knew she was getting close to teenagerhood when she started taking showers every day, sometimes twice a day. And leaving the towels on the floor.

To mark the occasion of her 13th birthday, she decided she wanted to have a little party at the house on Saturday. She invited some girls to sleep over, and she wanted a Doctor Who theme. Yes, we've transitioned from Disney princesses to mermaids to Kim Possible to American Idol wannabe to Miley Cyrus (lawd) to Harry Potter to Doctor Who. There were supposed to be some boys there (NOT to sleep over), but there was a Monster Truck rally in New Orleans that night.

Me? I know virtually nothing about The Doctor and the TV show. I think I've watched one episode and her insistence. But I have The Internet and me, being me, I had to do it right.

So, we went down to the local furniture store and asked for a big refrigerator box. I took her to the hardware store where she picked out the perfect shade of Tardis blue. Then we went to work.

Thank you Haydel's Furniture store!
                                               













And, she being my kid, it had to be right. (For the purists, we did add the little ambulance circle later.)

A short time later, she posted these photos on her Instagram account. Shortly after that, a kid replied, "No way! That's yours!" To which she replied, "Heck yeah it's mine."

And this was her cake:
Created by the fabulous Angie Poche Parsons of Luling, LA

We then spent the night eating chips and pizza and watching Sharknado, After Coach and I went to bed, they stayed up all night giggling and writing messages to their past and future selves on the walls of our homemade Tardis.

And as she counted her 13 candles, I counted my blessings: How lucky I am to have found this child, to have been given the opportunity -- no, the privilege -- of being her parent, her mom.  How blessed I am that her first mother chose me,  trusted me, believed in me, gave her to me.  And how thrilled I am to have been able to make her dreams come true for a day.

Because she made mine come true 13 years ago.







No comments:

Post a Comment