Oopsie. The last half of June came and went, then July, and almost August, without me saying a public Happy Birthday to our big kid.
He knows things I don't. He tried to explain what makes some-sort-of-certain gun work a couple of nights ago. "I taught you to speak," I say often. "How do you know words I don't?"
He's brave. He flew a Cessna airplane yesterday with his Civil Air Patrol instructor, up, around, down, up, around, and down for two hours straight.
He's sometimes ornery and grouchy. But usually only in the mornings ("mornings" meaning that time near or just before 12:30pm).
He's usually happy and talkative ("usually" means around 12:30am).
He sometimes acts like a Very Tall three-year-old. 15-year-olds can do that, you know.
He likes to give hugs. Especially when he knows I'm thinking about how I'd discipline a 3-year-old.
Always, always, even when he's a Very Tall ornery grouchy 15-year-old three-year-old, I love him. And even when he's smarter and braver than me til I wonder how on Earth silly me helped raise someone So Very Great, I love him.
Happy Birthday, you big barbarian.