My thirteen year old son, the one that isn't suppose to be talking to me until he turns fourteen, informed me yesterday that I was too old to wear jeans with holes in the knees.
I didn't buy the jeans with the holes in the knees. I wore the holes in the knees. I earned those holes. I can wear those holes.
My thirteen year old son, the one that still isn't suppose to be talking to me until he turns fourteen, informed me tonight not to get the water too hot for MY yorkie's bath.
It's my dog. I've bathed him before. I've bathed the standard poodle. I've bathed the jack russell. I've bathed the thirteen year old's baby bottom and four of his older siblings. I think I've mastered the temperature of bathwater. THANK YOU VERY MUCH!
Okay, I feel better now.
1 comment:
I am also living with a teenager, 14 years old. We spent yesterday at the doctor's getting stitches in his leg. I was at the store when he called, panicing saying that he had a huge gash and couldn't get the bleeding to stop and no one was close to him...and then his phone went dead. I flew home (30 min away) and he sat there laughing. It was bad, but not what he had me imagining.
Anyway...I really enjoyed your blog.
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