Sympathizing with Fred Sanford.

The other day after school I had the boys test their sugars and report back...well more like yell back, what their numbers were.

L- Wouldn't tell me. He just did his march to the low cupboard all the while maintaining intense eye contact with me...it's a wonder he doesn't run into a wall. So I knew he was low.

B- Came in and sat by me on the couch. "I'm 42."

Me: "YOU'RE 42!!!!" Grabbing my heart...

B- "No, ONE 42. 1-4-2"

Me: "Geez B, no mumbling when you tell me your number. I'm having heart palpitations."

J walks in with his 13 year old smirk. "I'm 489."

Before I can ask what the what, he giggles like a 2 year old.

J: "I'm just messin with you! I'm 129."

Is it a wonder I'm not in a mental institution?

I'd like to say this was an isolated incident, but the fun presses on!

B has mumbled half numbers to me THREE times since then, and L has continues to remain silent, reveling in his independence.

J...J isn't any better. He continues to joke/tease/LIE just to get some sort of reaction out of me.

"Why J? Why? Do you have no idea the pain you are causing me? My brain is swelly enough as it is!"

"If I told you the real number right away, you would be all, 'Whatever, ok.' But when I tell you an off number, and then SURPRISE you with a good one...then you are so relieved you practically want to have a party."

Teenagers. He's thirteen and he already has the screwed up logic of a sixteen year old. As sick as his logic is though, it's probably true. Regardless, I feel like Fred Sanford lately, constantly clutching my heart...."This is the big one! Elizabeth! Elizabeth! I'm coming home to you!"