Sweet Before Sixteen

Quite a pair we were this weekend – you and I. It wasn’t at all what we had planned. You were supposed to be traveling with your girlfriends in Minneapolis on a choir trip. I was supposed to be hanging out in Vegas with Dad, relaxing with a cool drink and a book.

Instead, we were stuck at home, rendered useless by the stomach flu. When we weren’t in the bathroom, we were sprawled out on the couch watching below average movies with below average expectations.

I’m certain that, for you, it will go down as one of your least favorite weekends. For me, it turned out to be kind of nice.

No, I have not become an influenza enthusiast. It’s just that at this time of our relationship, when you’re chomping at the bit to get away, I had you to myself for three inglorious days.

Because you were a victim of circumstance, your friends largely left you alone. Lucky me. For a few days, you hung out with me. I tried valiantly not to annoy you. You tried valiantly not to remember that I was annoying. For about 72 hours, your teen angst and attitude was missing in action. For me – jackpot.

Yesterday, finally feeling on the mend, we went to a movie. I tried hard to remember how you hate it when I whisper snarky comments during films. But at some point, you allowed it and we giggled a bit. At that moment, I could almost see a bright future between us when someday we could be friends.

And after the movie, when your friends finally acknowledged your existence and invited you to a gathering far away, I instead encouraged you to invite them to our house so you could reconnect and feel like a teen again. It was nice to hear young voices bouncing off the basement walls.

Today, we’re getting back to our routine. You’re off with your friends and I’m hanging with the laundry. That’s OK. I’ll always have this weekend.

Oh and one more thing: Happy Sweet Sixteen. I love you.