There was a birthday at our house this weekend. 

Fez, the wonder puppy, is now one year old – or is that seven years old in “people” years? 

If that whole people/dog year equation is accurate, something very scary will take place at our home next year.

 It took Big Al to do the higher math, but it appears that next year we will have three 14-year-old young men in our house….that is if you count Fez along with the twins.

 We’re having a hard enough time as it is keeping up with jeans that aren’t too short after two weeks, changing voices, and insatiable appetites.

 I was coming home from work a couple of weeks ago when my phone rang.

 “Hey mamma,” said one of the twins.

 “Yea,” I said.

 “Um, I’m just calling so you won’t worry if you see smoke when you come home,” said the twin.

 He had my complete attention.

 “Smoke!” I screamed.

 “Yeah.  We were heating up the banana muffins in the microwave and I don’t know what happened they just starting smoking and it smells really bad,” said the twin.

 “How long did you heat them?

“I don’t know?  Maybe three or four minutes!”

 So after I squeal into the driveway we have a brief, yet intense discussion about microwave cooking, reading directions and the ability to focus on one thing other than the PlayStation for just a brief moment.

 Fez doesn’t eat that much, but he can be pretty demanding about his Kong treats and the particular red rubber ball into which I am supposed to hide the treat each morning before work.

 I’m continually surprised by how the twins are growing up and becoming more responsible.

They help some of the ladies in the neighborhood with errands and yard work, but this was the first weekend where they were allowed to mow our lawn by themselves.

 Fez the wonder puppy was not happy. I’m not sure if he thinks he’s a boy just like the twins or if he’s sure the twins are puppies just like him. 

Either way, he was not content to sit in the house with me and watch the boys playing with the loud, new toy in the backyard.

 Every time I would try to pat his back or rub his ears, he would whip that puppy head around and give me the look I’ve seen so many times in the last year from the twins.
You know the look. It’s the look that screams “Mom. Stop it. I am not a baby. Please!”
Except this time it was coming from two big Beagle eyes.

 After I got the look, he would inch away from me; sit up a little taller, stare out enviously at the boys, watching their every step back and forth across our large back yard.

 Tonight we’re loading up and shopping for some new clothes. Items appropriate for teen boys. We’ve been blessed with over a dozen years of not being too concerned with our appearance, so I guess it’s just natural to start having some fashion sense now. Maybe I’ll grab a new collar for Fez as well.

 
Lori Marble, a Neosho resident, is a columnist for the Today’s Woman page.