16.5

On November 16th, this kiddo turned 16.5.  With each passing day, I'm more and more aware that he has limited time left at home.  And I gotta admit, the idea of him not being my kiddo anymore tugs a little at my heart strings.  People, trust me...  It goes so fast.  Don't blink.

He's almost half way through his junior year.  Next year he'll be a senior.  He gets his driver's license any day now...  I made a new rule for driving the kids to school this year:  Nate gets the front seat every day he rides with us because he doesn't have very many of those days left.  (Really, it was my selfish way of keeping his close to me.  As much as I hate being a taxi mom, I love talking to my kids in the car, and the older I get, the more fun those conversations are...  And I know I have a lot fewer of those left with Nate than with any of the others.)

Friday Nate had his wisdom teeth out.  He was semi-ok Friday and Saturday.  We put a remote in his hand and gave him the really good drugs once in a while, and he was fine.  They said the worst day for pain is the third day.  Sunday was not a great day for him, and he was sure there was a piece of food stuck in the back of his mouth, and he was determined to pull it out (against the advice of his doctor, who said let it work it's way out).  When there's something bugging him, he just can't leave it alone.

In all of his obsessing about whatever was in his mouth, I said, "What if it's just your stitches?"  

Then the rest of us left Nate home alone and went downtown Salt Lake City for the LDS church's Christmas Devotional.  Nate was here alone...just him and the remote...  And a waterpik.  He was determined to get that food out.

He's in a lot of pain today.  I called the doctor and they said he may have given himself a dry socket by using the waterpik...  We'll know tomorrow.

Seriously...  One day they'll all just figure out that Mom's right and we'll avoid half of the things that fall into the "oops" category of life.  Meanwhile, good thing we have a sense of humor.  (When they were babies, someone told me I wouldn't get mad when I saw all the messes they got into if I grabbed a camera and took a picture instead of yelling.  I guess it worked.)

Today, Nate came to me and said, "Mom, what if that thing that I thought was a piece of food is stitches?"   

I have to say in his defense, that I was 16.5 once too.  I think there were also things I had to figure out for myself...like gravity.  My young and in love self decided to descend the face of a giant rock without gear because in the euphoria of being in love, we both thought it sounded like a good idea...  I fell.  Thankfully, a quick thinking ranger caught me and stopped my fall (and all I remember about him now is that he had red hair and an Aussie accent...the ranger that is, not the guy I was with). 

Then later that evening, we thought it would be fun to drive in reverse down the dirt road that lead out of the canyon.  

And my mom remembers that when I told her the story, I prefaced it with, "Before I tell you what happened, I want to tell you that I didn't even break a fingernail."  (I clearly remember holding my hands up as proof, at which time she saw the scrapes down the sides of my arms.)

And 2 days after I had my wisdom teeth out I went skiing because adrenaline took over and the thought of a ski date with someone older who I had a crush on sounded too good to pass up.  (It was my last and only date with him...wonder why?)

So I've done my share of sixteen and stupid, and Nate's obsession with his stitches and possibly creating a dry socket doesn't come close.  I forgive him.

Funny though...  Everyone in the family is now telling and re-telling the story of when Nate pulled his own stitches out when he was four.  He'd had ear tubes a few years earlier, and the hole in his eardrum hadn't closed.  Surgery was recommended to repair the hole, which involved taking a tiny bit of tissue from the back of his earlobe to graft onto his eardrum as a patch, hence the stitches in his earlobe.

I remember we brought him home from the hospital, and I did the same thing back then I did this time--put him in front of the TV.  He'd been sleepy, and fell asleep as soon as I laid him on the couch, so I went upstairs to start cleaning the kitchen.  Not even 5 minutes later he was standing there in the kitchen with blood dripping off his ear and down his shoulder, and as calmly as a kid could ask for anything he said, "Mom, can you help me get these stitches out?"  Apparently they were bugging him back then also.  I also still remember the look on the face of the nurses when I walked back into the surgical center with a bleeding child not even an hour after walking out.  And by then Nate was tired and very, very aware of the stitches in his earlobe...not our favorite day at the doctor.

Nate gets that humor softens things for me.  Today in an attempt to stop the "I-told-you-so" that he sensed might follow his stitches ah-ha moment, Nate said, "It's my own special trait.  Removing stitches."  

Nate, we love you.  And all your special traits.  Maybe you'll be a surgeon someday.  

And no, you can't wrestle on Saturday if you have a dry socket.  And I won't feel bad and give in.  (But dad might, and I might go along with it.)  

(And all this while we had carpet layers in our house from 8:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m.  Of course that only added to the fun, but new carpet!  It makes me forget everything else.)