Today is my son’s eleventh birthday.
The party [theme: The Flash] is set for this Saturday – at Mom’s. It involves a bit of road travel. However, as luck would have it (my kind of luck anyway… you know, the bad kind), a heavy snowstorm is forecasted for – you guessed it – Saturday.
Last winter we had a crazy-ass amount of snow. [Global warming my ass!] But snowfall this winter has been scarce (to date). So naturally, the first significant storm of the winter is set to fall on the one day I need it not to snow. Seriously. This is my life. I know it’s not the end of days, but what the fuck?
The party will likely be postponed. And once we find a new date that works for everyone, I hope to hell we don’t get another storm! Crap. I probably just jinxed it.
My poor son!
Last year, the first major snowstorm also occurred on the intended party date. And three years ago, the year my dad died, we kind of cancelled entirely. Dad was getting worse and a party, when we knew he’d be gone soon, seemed inappropriate (and he left us two weeks later…). John and I had a mini-party for the boy’s 7th that year, at home, just the four of us. It was a little depressing.
I confess, though, that I’m glad this crap happens to my son and not my daughter. The boy is pretty cool about such things. He’ll be fine no matter how many weeks the party is delayed. Conversely, my daughter would probably be having a giant hissy fit by now.
She does not take after me… at. all. I swear!
When we first arrived home from the hospital with the boy, we had no idea what the hell we were doing. I never would have believed it before I lived it, but you really do just figure it out. I didn’t read a ton of baby books, I didn’t concern myself with how others thought I should parent. I just… did it. And he was the best first baby ever. He was easy. Calm. Mellow. He slept through the night before he was three months old. [And we stupidly assumed our second baby would be equally as easy. Wrong!]
My son is an amazing kid. I’m not completely biased – I’m told all the time what a great kid he is… by relatives, teachers, his friends’ parents, even strangers. When he was still little… 6 months, a year, 2 years old… John and I occasionally took him with us out to dinner. More times than I can even remember, other guests would walk right up to us to tell us how incredibly well-behaved he was. He never went through a ‘tantrum’ phase. He’s just this adorable, smart, sweet kid.
He takes after me. I swear!
My boy is eleven. Wow.
[I hope this post wasn’t too boring!]