Birthdays are arbitrary

Today is my son K's 14th birthday, but during the lead-up when his family asked what he wanted, he just stared at his screen and kept mumbling 'Birthdays are arbitrary'.

So while he sat at home playing Mario in his PJs, I've been celebrating his birthday with my better quality kid, 18 year old E.

Here are E and I stopping in Levin, on our driving tour of lower North Island Save Marts. We went to both Levin and Palmerston North. (I can actually smash out three Save Marts in a day if I have to, but E is still young and building his stamina.)

E is a great travel companion. We sang the whole of Jesus Christ Superstar together in the car. And he knows lots of trivia. For example, did you know the NZSL sign for Levin is a simple L made with thumb and forefinger? It works on a lot of levels.

E is also good at helping me pick clothes.

Me, holding up an animal print with gold spangles: 'What about this?'

E, bemused: 'What would it go with it?'

Me: 'My severance pay, if I wear it to work'.

But back to the 14 year old. Yes, you, K.

Right now, as an early teenager, your mum seems kind of annoying and embarrassing. Guilty as charged. But you're still getting a birthday present from me. It's this. I'm going to keep loving your scrawny sullen ass, through your hard years, and for all of my own years.

I figure this strategy will go one of two ways. You'll either:

1) realise in the fullness of time that a mother's love is the most precious gift of all, or

2) be less of a dick when I ask you what you want for your birthday next year.

Happy arbitrary birthday, son.