A TEENager in Autismland

The other day I asked Roman to hang up his jacket, and he said this to me: okay - whatEVER! With a tone. Can you believe that?

My youngest. My sweet boy. I was completely taken aback. Where had we gone so... right?

I had to contain my excitement- we’ve waited much too long for him to get age-appropriately lippy. (Truth be told, he still has a fair amount of ground to catch up to his siblings in this uncharted snarky territory, but they did get a mostly neurotypical head start.)

This was but a mere verbal precursor to today though, as Cinco de Mayo always melds with margaritas the Romanator’s birthday. And today? Roman is officially a TEENAGER, y’all. (I can just see him squinting now, adorably unsuccessful at lampooning an eye roll. Baby steps!)

I know some believe 13 to be an unlucky number, but consider this: in Italian fare tredici is slang for hitting the jackpot. (<-- Thanks, Wikipedia!) And we have definitely overshot making thirteen in laughter and love. By a loooong country mile.

So in honor of his thirteen years on this planet, I’m offering up a baker’s dozen of my favorite Romanisms. Enjoy!

    1. Your father sells butt chips.
    2. Fiction is my life!
    3. My belly button is magic.
    4. I stole a deer.
    5. My vocabulary smells like sausage. <-- true words!
    6. I want to be a robot when I grow up.
    7. Q: Roman, what are you thinking about? A: Noncompliance.
    8. I’m tall in my shadow.
    9. I’m just making it up. I’m Jesus.
    10. Your morals have stink underwear on them.
    11. I hate gettin’ kicked in the weirds!
    12. That dog’s eyeball is upside down!
    13. It smells like Ben Franklin.
Sadly, we will *again* be unable to deliver his birthday wish gift: dragons are especially hard to come by in Maine. I hope that some trampoline time, a burger with fries and a chocolate cupcake chaser will do the trick though. BIG LOVE to my erstwhile baby boy. (And a margarita for mama!)

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