It's officially more than official.

Mr. Cynic turns fifteen at the end of next month.  If I previously doubted I had a teen (I really haven't doubted since he was like four, really, but who's counting), a few things occurred within about twenty-four hours which proves this fact beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Sunday morning, I co-led the teen group at church, in which it was pointed out that as a teen and parent go, we get along better than most.  Then I dropped him off at his girlfriend's house for the afternoon. Yes her parents were there.

He came home about six hours later and the energy in the room significantly changed.

So I asked, "Did you finally kiss her?"

"Why yes.  Yes I did."

"Was is everything it was cracked up to be?"

"Why yes.  Yes it was."

I inquired further and immediately regretted having as open a relationship as I do with my son, so promptly ended the question and answer portion of our program.  However he was flying high for the duration of the evening.  Note to self: revisit discussions of not rushing into things you're not ready for even if it feels like you're ready for it in the moment.

Monday afternoon, he came home from school, and emphatically stated a reply of no to everthing I asked, though he did walk the dog without a reminder.  Eventually he unloaded the dishwasher, nearly breaking every dish as well as slamming every cabinet in the process.  But it took Toots and an army of cuteness to get him to refill her empty cup as he was occupying the kitchen as if defending with troops and refusing to do so when I asked.

And to think he blamed his Geometry teacher's not clarifying the lesson when he so clearly raised his hand and called her name like fifty times to say he didn't understand it for this mood he wrought upon me.

So I thought, rather than get into it with him, it was better to let him roam and kvetch to his friends in the neighborhood rather than endure another moment of his angst.

Oy, next Fall he starts Driver's Ed. I'm not so sure we'll make it that far.