A certain someone in our household celebrated her fourteenth birthday over the weekend. 

Fourteen.

Yikes.

She had six of her friends over for a party on Saturday.  Watching them it was crazy to see how much things have changed. 

And how little.

At my thirteenth birthday party my friends and I plugged a boom-box into an outlet in the garage and stood in the driveway shakin’ our groove thangs to Vanilla Ice.

As in Ice, Ice Baby.

On Saturday Torri’s friends plugged her iPod into an iHome set up on a table in the backyard and lined up on the patio, shakin’ their own groove thangs to a song called Soldier Boy.

At my thirteenth birthday party (which happened to be a sleepover held in the garage to accommodate both my wish for privacy and the large number of attendees) my dad got very little sleep because he was too busy standing guard nearby.  He may have had to chase away a boy or two who might  have come tapping at the garage door late into the night. 

Don’t put me on record here but it might even be accurate to say that my friends and I were given a ride in the backseat of a police car that night after having snuck around the block and across the street to T.P. the house of a certain boy who may or may not have scorned me.

In the way eighth graders scorn one another of course.

Anyway…

Thankfully Torri’s party was WAY less eventful.  But it was humbling to see how completely uncool I’ve become.

I really don’t understand it because I think that as far as hip parents go, I’m like, way up there on the cool meter.  For real.  You’ve seen how I dress.  I listen to adult alternative music (country too, but I’m looking for cool points here).  And I’ve got youth on my side.  You’ll remember that I was merely 16 years old when this kid was born.  So if there is a cool mom out there, I’m it don’t ya think?

Yeah, the girls at Torri’s party?  Not so much.

Every time I opened the sliding door to the backyard to deliver more snacks and goodies, it was like all the air was suddenly sucked from the patio and those poor little dears were left dead silent (probably gasping for air or something).  And when I tried to interact, in any way, shape, or form, my witty one-liners were left hanging in the air like lonely morning fog.

Ouch.

When did I  become the odd one out?

Long ago apparently.

It was fun to watch Torri with all her girlies though.  I told Jeff that if he ever wondered what I was like as a teenager he need look no further than the first bedroom on the right.  I swear this kid is my clone.

And, as you might have guessed, that worries me slightly.

But I’m holding out hope that over the next few years when it comes time to make some really tough choices, she’ll do better than I did in the same position.

I have a feeling she will.

She’s just like me in that she views herself as a princess.  She’s moody too.  Sneaky and cunning.  And her sense of humor (though hard for me to relate to now) is the mirror image of what my own was at her age.

And while she is  like me in countless ways, she’s different too.

She has a good head on her shoulders.  She seems to understand consequences more than I ever did.  And I’m counting on that quality of hers to carry her through.

I know she’ll stumble.  I know she’ll falter.  Don’t they all?  I have faith, though, in who she is, and who she is becoming.

This first baby of mine has dealt with some hurdles already.  More than I would have liked.  Everything happens for a reason though right?  I have faith that those hurdles have taught her a lot already.  And that with each passing year she’ll go on to surprise and amaze me.

Ideally that surprise and amazement won’t come in the form of a police escort home in the middle of the night. 

But whatever.  Beggars can’t be choosers.

I’ve learned a lot this week.  I thought I’d pass along some of my newly acquired tidbits.  You know, because that’s just the kind of girl I am. 

9.  If you ever feel like you have a foreign object lodged in the back of your throat and you open wide only to find a white pocket clinging to your tonsil, you likely have tonsil stones.

8.  It’s gross.  Don’t ask.

7.  If you put an old towel down in the bathtub when you leave your oven racks in it overnight to soak in a vinegar/dish soap solution, don’t count on that towel preventing rust stains on your tub.

6.  Despite the claims on the internet, a mixture of hydrogen peroxide and cream of tartar DOES NOT  remove rust stains.

5.  Either does lemon juice and salt.

4.  When you ask your teenage daughter what she would like to eat for dinner on her upcoming birthday, don’t expect her to be able to answer you without first texting the friend who will be spending the night that night and asking for her input.

3.  Four day weeks rock.

2.  When your grocery store puts several bottles of wine in a cart and drastically reduces the sales price because the labels are damaged, don’t let that deter you from purchasing said wine.  The $7 bottles that normally sell for $17 will likely be fabulous, ugly labels or not.

1.  When you discover a vegetable that your 2-year-old son can’t get enough of, feed it to him on a Friday night when you husband will be home the next day to assist in the multiple carrotesque bowel movements that said vegetable binge will more than likely produce. 

See there.  Aren’t you glad I shared?

Remember when this had me concerned?

Well, some fishy stuff has been going on in since then.

Namely this

and this.

And today, when we ran an errand to the post office, he insisted on taking along Kennedy’s purse.  And sporting the same pink and white sunglasses he’s pictured in above.  He didn’t just drag the purse along in a boyish manner either.  He insisted on carrying it on his shoulder.  And I swear that at one point I saw his arm posed in a 90 degree angle from his body, wrist dangling so as to totally rival Jack from Will and Grace.

Should I be worried?

There is a common misconception about children with Down syndrome.  Lots of people believe that they are all shiny, happy people who are always snuggly and cheery and angelic. 

Um?  No.

If they are all shiny, happy angels I totally got a defect.

That’s not to say that Cassie doesn’t have her moments of sweetness; she most certainly does.  They come fewer and further between than they did when she was an itty bitty thing, but every once in awhile she surprises me.

And then there are moments like today.

If you ask the sweet little old lady who Cassidy very nearly knocked to her tush about Cassie’s angelic side, she might be hard pressed to find anything good to say.

Today was voting day here in Southern Arizona (is that a nationwide thing? I’m clueless as to democratic process).  Anyway, the elementary school that Cassidy and Kennedy attend doubles as a voting center.  And after I picked Cass up and got the daily report from the new para (who I love by the way) we were walking back to the car to wait for the older sisters.

Now, I have to preface this by telling you that Cass loves old people.  I blame it on grandparent withdrawal.  She loves them.  She refers to all elderly people as Grandma or Grandpa.  It used to embarrass me but I’m over it.  She has a thing for men with long white beards too.  She calls them Santa.  That still embarrasses me.

Anyway, there was this sweet old lady with a cane minding her own business and doing her civic duty, walking, slowly but surely, towards the ballot with her name on it.  Her husband was quite a few feet ahead of her, with a cane of his own.  As we’re passing this lady, Cass reaches out and grabs her by the hand and says, “No!  Come this way,” and sort of whips her around to face the other direction. 

Yes she did.

The woman was left wobbling and searching for her balance.  In spite of my horror I reacted rather quickly and abandoned the stroller and Cassidy’s other  hand to reach out to assist in stabling this poor woman.  She was proud though and insisted that she was okay.  I apologized profusely.  Really, really profusely.  And do you know what she did?  Rather than spit in our general direction she engaged us in conversation.  It went something like this:

Little Old Lady: Whoa there little lady!  And what is your name?
Cassidy: Cassidy.  (It doesn’t quite come out that clearly, but she is well versed on her name so she pretty much gets it right every time).
Little Old Lady: Oh, Kathleen?  That’s beautiful.  And what about this little guy?  What’s his name?
Cassidy: Jayce.
Little Old Lady: David?
Cassidy: No!  Jayce.  Not David.
(A little help from mom here in translating from David to Jayce).
Little Old Lady:  And how old are you Kathleen?
Kathlissidy: Eight!  What’s this stick(Cassidy reaching out and nearly snatching the lady’s cane)?
Little Old Lady: (Tightly gripping the cane) Oh, I need this old thing to walk because I’m very old.  Can you guess how old I am?
Cassidy: (Says not a peep and only beams ear to ear – Thank God for small miracles).
Little Old Lady: I’m 89!  Did you ever know somebody to be that old?
Cassidy: (Shakes her head no, still smiling).  Okay.  Bye!
Little Old Lady: Bye Kathleen!

I apologized profusely again before walking (in utter shame btw) the rest of the way to the car.  The lady waved off my apologies as if I was a madwoman.  A madwoman whose sweet angelic child just about broke her hip.

I know it may seem as though I’m an inattentive mom.  But believe me when I tell you I most certainly am not.  Cassidy is quick.  Very quick, but only when the last thing I need is for her reflexes to put mine to shame.  Putting on shoes, finishing her dinner, brushing her teeth?  None of these activities produce any degree of speed.  But boy when there is a vulnerable elderly person in the vicinity, that kid can move.

That’s my girl alright.  She sure knows how to make a mama proud.

Who doesn’t love a good four day weekend?  Sure, there’s the sleeping in and the big breakfasts and the lazy days around the house.  All of those are great reasons to appreciate a holiday.  The type-A in me, though, loves the extended time because it allows me to accomplish so much more than I otherwise would.

At the onset of this particular weekend, I set a lofty goal for myself.  I wanted to complete ten full scrapbook pages.  And finish the t-shirts we started long ago for our upcoming Disney World trip.  There were weeds to be pulled and errands to be run.

If you’re wondering how I did in accomplishing all of my to-do’s, well, I didn’t exactly succeed.  I did, however, come very close.  Close enough that even the nagging perfectionist in me is content with the progress.

The scrapbook pages?  Seven out of ten ain’t bad right?

The t-shirts?  We’re making five this year.  Five per person that is.  And Cassidy and Jayce both get extras.  Jeff and I have been brainstorming and designing these babies for months.  Seriously.  We started the process in May.  It’s a labor of love.  We don’t just slap your standard Mickey on a t-shirt and call it good.  Oh no.  We come up with witty, clever, (some might even call them genius), logos and nitpick at them until they are just right.  And our hard work has definitely paid off this year.  I’ll be sure to post pictures of them at some point but now is just not the time.  Anyway, we finished ‘em off this weekend.  With the exception of those extras we’re whipping up for Cass and Jayce.  We thought that since we had a few transfers left over we’d slap ‘em on those whopping two dollar t-shirts from Michaels and call it a day.  The extras are just your standard Mickeys.  They are simpletons those two.  They enjoy the characters.  So the characters they get.

The weeds were pulled.  And while I did don the gloves and dig right in, it’d be dishonest of me to take credit for the weedless yard we now proudly display.  My tidy little pile of weeds paled in comparison the mound that Jeff produced.  It’s done though.  For now.

Errands?  Check.  And better yet they were childless errands.  Torri volunteered her sitting services.  Seems she’s not a huge fan of the Costco samples tapas lunch.  Go figure.

Anyway, all in all the weekend was a success.  Multiple loaves of bread were baked.  Clothes were laundered.  Lists were whittled down.  We even threw an impromptu “teen” party on Saturday to celebrate the fact that we have under twenty days to go until we leave for Disney World.  What does one do at a “teen” party you might be wondering?  I don’t know typical protocol but we made Smores over the fire-pit in the backyard and lit the unused sparklers we had left over from the 4th of July.  The rain sensed our celebration and moved to squelch our fun.  It only made it all the merrier though.  And we chose to consider the rainbow a sign that our trip would be painless weather-wise.  It was a glass-half-full kind of party, kwim?

So how was your Labor Day weekend?  Laborless I hope.