Growing (up) pains?

We have a running joke in our house, that when one of the kids does something...not bad, exactly...but, say "playfully obnoxious"...Husband or I will turn to our other son and address him as: the Preferred Child. Given the following snippets from the past week, I'll let YOU decide who gets the honors at the present time...

Leading off, we have Riley. You'll be happy to know that he did, indeed, survive the mortification of Family Life, seemingly intact. But remember that private Boys Only Conference that took place behind closed doors one night during the time the unit was being taught? Well, Husband leaked one tidbit of the discussion to me later. Apparently, Riley informed his father that he "wasn't going to find a girl and have sexual intercourse" (yes, that's exactly how he phrased it...my little scientific nerd...) until he was 20...because it "seems like a good time for that kind of thing". Oh. My. Goodness. And knowing Riley, he didn't just pluck the number out of the air, either. He most likely put some thought into what was involved, considered the pros and cons...ran some probable scenarios...and...what have you... However, there was more to the story. Husband explained the...um..."physiological process" for how our friends the egg and sperm get together. (And by the way, so much for the innocent era of "it's a magical, mystical thing that happens when Mommy and Daddy love each other very much...and poof! A baby happens!" Dang it...) Riley's response to this...biological enlightenment? "Huh. That sounds ridiculous." Absolutely, sweetie--it's the most absurd thing you've ever heard in your life, right? As a matter of fact, 20 is seeming waaaayyyy too early now, isn't it? Feel free to back that up to 25...or 30...

Then--on a completely unrelated topic, before anyone has a conniption--there's the teenager. One night I was busy (and by that I mean probably checking Facebook, or otherwise goofing around online) and not paying attention to the time. It was a school night, and Derek knows darn well the schedule of when to get ready for bed. So when the time came...and went...without him lifting a finger to begin his lengthy Pre-Turn-In Ritual (I swear, it's so complicated, with so many steps, you'd think he was a...girl...or something...) I failed to notice this transgression, at first. Then suddenly I realized it was too late for him to still be awake and lollygagging, so I charged into his room to light a fire under his lazy adolescent butt. "Why aren't you getting ready for bed?" I asked in a scolding tone. Leaning back in his chair, nonchalantly chewing gum, he gazed at me calmly and replied, "Well, you didn't tell me to..." At which point I sort of blew up...and snapped, "What are you, 5? You need me to remind you every night when to go to bed? If this was a test of maturity and responsibility, you failed!" (I know, right? Whoa, overreact much? All I can say in my defense is: I was tired...and probably should have been tucking myself in instead of delivering a lecture...)

Naturally, he took it well, and went about his nighttime business in his usual unruffled fashion. And I kissed him goodnight and forgot all about the incident...until a few days later, just before soccer practice. We were doing the normal rush-around-thing, grabbing cleats and shinguards and whatnot to take to the field. At the last minute, I realized I'd neglected to fill water bottles for each of them, to drink during breaks in the action. As I was retrieving my shoes, I relayed my oversight to Derek, who obediently began performing the task for me. But not without the following barb, slung in my direction in a tone positively dripping with sarcasm, "Geez, Mom, how could you forget the water bottles?" (A well-timed pause for effect....) "If this was a test of maturity, I guess you FAILED!" Sigggghhhgh. Darn smarta...mouth teenager. So I did the only thing possible in this situation (besides burst into laughter, of course) and threw out the standard non-serious parental threat that Husband and I employ at will: "That's it, you're grounded!" (Not that either of my children even know what that means--it's just another family gag...)

So there you have it: 2 boys, only one of whom can wear the Preferred Child crown for the week. I'll give you one guess as to who gets my vote...