Birthdays in our house usually all start out the same. The night before, we spend time expelling air into 68 or so balloons, ready to pass out from the effort. I hang these throughout the kitchen with packaging tape, which pisses my husband off because when we remove the decorations, we also often remove the shitty paint the builder used on our walls. Regular tape just doesn’t hold though.
Mutterings of passive-aggressive comments like “guess I’ll have to paint that later” and not so passive “this house is a shit show” come from his mouth. I suppose I could use alternative methods to hang the decorations, but that would require me finding something else to use. I’ll find something better someday if only to avoid his grumblings. Don’t want to keep poking the bear.
Decorations hung, the next morning the birthday kid gets a pancake made in the shape of their birthday. The rest of the day can vary but usually involves a dinner of their choice and us serenading them “happy birthday” to a lit-up ice cream cake.
Wholesome moments.
Pictures taken.
Cherished memories of your children gaining one more finger on their hand count of age. That’s usually how birthdays go. But recently, my daughter Scarlett turned 14 and it was not one you’d like a Hallmark card written about. It started off sweet, albeit untraditionally, but quickly escalated into something MA-rated. Let’s discuss.
Scarlett wakes up early. No pancake breakfast to start off her day because she must be fasting when she goes to the diagnostics lab to have her blood drawn. What child wants to give blood for the first time on her birthday? Not mine, but we had no choice. Nothing dramatic going on; she just needed it done because of lady reasons that I won’t divulge here because she’d kill me.
She was scared and uncomfortable. I tried to calm her down, but she’s 14 and I’m her mom so of course I was unsuccessful. She did hold my hand though, and I was warmed by that glimpse into her childhood again.
After being poked with a needle, we grabbed Starbucks. She loaded up on a Venti refresher something and ordered a cake pop without asking. Normally that would not fly, but hey – it’s her birthday. We stopped at UPS, and I showed her the joys of scanning in your own Amazon returns. I don’t know why, but I find it fun to do someone else’s job. We popped in the grocery store and grabbed her ice cream cake, bonding on the way back to the car of how ridiculous it was to pay $26 for what we just got. What is this world coming to??!
This morning, so far, was actually Hallmark card worthy. Holding hands at the lab, special treats a Starbucks, running errands in the early morning light without the other kids in tow. But don’t worry – the spiciness is coming….
Back at the house, Vince made breakfast while we were gone. He apparently deserved an award for this based on his level of fluster when we arrived.
Folks, he made breakfast AND watched his two younger daughters! Hooooo weeee, that’s a feat deserving of recognition. How did he manage this accomplishment?!
Let’s all take a moment to congratulate him.
Still, my Hallmark morning is going strong. Coming home to food is a great feeling, and the kids were all excited to eat.
Sitting at the table, I take Scarlett’s picture holding her birthday pancake. My 18-year-old daughter, Gianna, emerges downstairs – looking like Anna the morning of Elsa’s coronation (aka a hot mess). She shuffles over to the table and asks Scar how old she is.
Scar says “14.”
To which Gianna immediately replies, “…inches in my mouth.”
The happy Hallmark record screeched to a stop. Sun’s still shining through the curtains, bringing a golden glow to the morning, but now here we are talking about penis size and its ability to fit orally.
How quickly things change.
Of course, this was hilarious. We all laughed – including my 5-year-old daughter Evie – out of camaraderie and (hopefully) not understanding. It was agreed that this would now be the default response to age questions. I am winning in our family with 43 inches in my mouth. How ‘bout that.
However, this penal length comment sent the morning into a downward spiral of inappropriateness. Scarlett requested Alexa to play “Birthday Sex” and proceeded to sing along to every word – despite being entirely inexperienced in this area. Even Gianna asked her how she knew the lyrics. Evie just sat at the table and ate her breakfast, for once not asking questions. In her unusual quietness, I wondered what impact this was going to have on her psyche and prayed she doesn’t think this is now our traditional birthday breakfast song.
As we began cleaning up, Alexa continued to cycle bow-chicka-wow-wow songs on her playlist – apparently assuming we were a couple in a bedroom instead of family of 6 in our kitchen celebrating our teenager’s birthday.
Scarlett stood by the counter and listened to whatever sensual track was playing at the moment. Excluded from the cleanup duties because of her birthday girl status; however, we all commented on how she typically manages to avoid this peasant duty regardless. She began to gyrate along with the music, making me question her previously certain virginity.
“It’s just dancing,” she insisted, continuing on – having fun making us all uncomfortable. That’s when Evie started copycatting. Scarlett decided to instruct her 5-year-old sister how to do the moves the “right way.”
For fuck’s sake.
Hallmark is now out the window. We are venturing into Skin-a-Max territory. In a 30-minute span, the wholesome family memory was tarnished by oral sex comments, baby-making music, and preschooler bump and grind moves. How we easily escalated to this point I don’t know. This is how our life goes.
The day goes on. Scar napped of course because that’s a teenager’s favorite hobby. Later on, we sang using the $26 birthday cake and afterwards the older kids decided to go see a movie.
The choice? Oh, well, it’s the R-rated “I Know What You Did Last Summer” of course. Because why not end Scarlett’s 14th birthday with an R-rated horror film? The whole day was already one giant spiral of inappropriateness.
Vince waited for the girls to come home, and I went to bed and called it a day.
The next morning, I questioned all my parenting choices while walking upstairs to wake Scarlett up for her scheduled event of that day. Her bed was empty.
Turning around, I opened the door to Gianna’s room and, sure enough, there they were. Snuggled together out of necessity and sisterhood, needing company as you often do after watching a scary movie.
I moved to the bed and leaned over. Admiring their faces as they slept.
Just like I always used to do when they were younger.
When the birthday pancakes were one digit instead of two.
Hallmark moment, back again. <3