My birthday, so far:

The kids are getting dressed for school; Char comes into the kitchen where I am begging the coffee maker to hurry up already.

Char: I think we need to make Kevin a doctor's appointment.
Me: For?
Char: I think he has allergies.
Me: I haven't heard him sneezing or coughing. He doesn't sound congested or anything.
Char: No, but he's gone through an entire box of Kleenex in the last week.
Me: (blink blink blink)
Char: What?
Me: He doesn't need to see a doctor.
Char: But--
Me: He's fine.
Char: A entire box, Ian.
Me: Only thing wrong with him is that he's twelve.

At this point, the offender wanders into the kitchen. Char looks at him, sighs hard, and rushes out.

Kevin: What? What'd I do?
Me: Empty your trash can more often, kid.

Funny thing is, he knew exactly what I was talking about, and wasn't the least bit flustered by it. He just laughed at his mother, and promised he'd be less conspicuous.

The little kid years are officially over.