My oldest is a year older. He’s 12! I’m also going to be bold and say he’s a momma’s boy. That’s right! I earned that, people. Blood, sweat, tears and many gray hairs have nurtured that boy this far.
Kids are hard work. Some kids are fucking overtime with no pay. This child was damn near close.
Of course it’s worth it, blah blah blah, but I am happy to see 12, y’all. It might be the vodka talking, but I have reached the stage where I am leaning with one elbow on the bar, hair flopped down in my face, makeup smudged under both eyes and the only lipstick left is on my teeth and on the straw of my overly sweet cocktail if parenting was a bar.
I have the other kid coming up behind at 7 years old challenging all of my patience. Number one threatens my sanity, but number two is working my patience like a teacher in June.
I just survived the birthday party. We had 5 11/12 year old boys at the house for 4.5 hours. They played with nerf guns, we had one face shot at point blank range (thankfully only 1) and then we had them play a linked up co-op type game across a few xboxes.
They all got along splendidly…minus the headshot. They ate, they partied, they gamed, then eventually left.
My ears are still ringing.
I must say thus far my son has shown pretty good taste in friendships. Who knows how they’ll actually turn out, but we have plenty of animals and I detected zero urges for animal sacrifice. We had lots of pleases& thank yous and no one threatened fisticuffs.
All in all a great day.
Now I get to look forward to the final days of school and the deep chasm of summer break.
Keep that vodka comin, barkeep!