It officially happens tomorrow.
(If you need me tomorrow, I’ll be in my closet. Sitting on the floor. Watching home videos that Hubs and I filmed when the boy was two and NOT a teenager. I’ll be crying the cry that frightens men, because HOW DO THEY FIX SOMETHING LIKE THAT, when there’s snot everywhere and mascara down to the chin?)
Even though the boy’s birthday isn’t until tomorrow, we did start celebrating early around here. If the sharks can have an entire week, so can a birthday boy.
We drove out to Small Mountain Town last night to have dinner with Grammy and Papa and a batch of cousins.
Suffice it to say, Grammy gave him some instruction on YOU’LL NEVER GET A WIFE IF THAT’S HOW YOU END A MEAL. Grammy is very wise.
Thing 2 discovered the potato chips, which means the rest of dinner was shut down for him. Our baby has an issue with potato chips — when he sees them, he cannot see anything else. Even though his plate was adorned with watermelon and a hot dog, he left them untouched, because HELLO, RUFFLES WITH RIDGES!
Since it was a party celebration, Hubs and I let Thing 2 eat his fill of chips.
And nothing else.
Except a cupcake later.
Don’t judge us.
Because Grammy and Papa have a couple of tiny little ponds in their yard, water is always available. When water is always available, boys will take advantage of it, especially since Grammy has an arsenal of weapons on her back porch.
(For the record? We always seem to have cast-off clothes in the back of our Suburban. I don’t know how they get there. I don’t bring naked children into the house when we pull into our driveway, and yet we always have clothes back there!)
There were yard games to be played, too.
Thankfully, he’s cute and his cousins overlooked the fact that he just stole the balls away from them and ran them out of bounds.
There’s my heart, walking around, holding hands.
There were cupcakes, too. A party isn’t a party until someone has heard a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” sung to them and been offered a little piece of cake with bright orange or green frosting.
Tonight, we had a picnic in the park, because remember… the sharks get an entire week… and if it’s good enough for the sharks, it’s good enough for my baby.
Welcome, Birthday Week ’13!
There were more presents at the park, because Grammy and Papa like that boy. I’m fairly certain that they actually like him a lot.
The boy got a brand new Under Armour sweatshirt. Even though it was 412 degrees outside, he went ahead and tried it on. And then he proceeded to wear it for the rest of the evening, because he said the air had a bit of a chill to it.
Never mind that my estrogen was causing rivulets of pig sweat to drip down my neck and pool around my ankles. Just LOOKING at the boy in that sweatshirt made me ache for ice.
I’m pretty sure the boy liked his next gift!
Thank goodness Grammy remembered safety glasses. She has already survived Hubs shooting his eye out when he was sixteen. Hubs (who wasn’t “Hubs” when he was sixteen, because that would’ve meant that I would have been fifteen, and I had geometry finals to study for then. I didn’t have time to get married!) took a ricocheted bullet to his cheek, which struck his eye and got him a seat on a flight for life plane, so that he could have EMERGENCY EYE SURGERY in a bigger and better hospital than our little town has to offer. Grammy doesn’t want a repeat performance of that, because kids who shoot their eyeballs out cause their mamas to grow gray hairs and need nerve pills.
He’s a city boy.
Thing 2 appreciates ice cream in every single flavor.
(Don’t worry. I can’t sing… I can’t play an instrument… I can’t do a decent handstand… but Stain Removal is seriously one of my spiritual gifts.)
Bring on thirteen!