We'll Get There

Not sure what's up with me, but I haven't been exactly motivated to do...well...pretty much anything lately.  And unfortunately that has seeped into wanting to write.  Lamesauce. It'll come back; it always does.

It was Alex's birthday yesterday.  He is now 8 years old.  He's creepin' on that age range of boys when I usually just do not like them very much, so that's gonna be interesting.  I don't know, there is just something about boys from about 8 or 9 until 12 or 13 that I could leave right on the curb.  They are awkwardly tying to figure themselves out and frankly, I'm pretty sure I'm still doing that so I kinda feel like y'all are stealin' my sweet vibe.  We shall see how this all plays out now that it's my boy.

He wanted to stay home from camp yesterday since it was his birthday so it was a special occasion and he really just wanted to be with me.  Uh. Huh.  Either he is the sweetest kid in the northern hemisphere, or he totally played me, but he got to stay home.  Before I gave in, I told him if he stayed home, hanging out with me would mean going to Costco, the grocery store, meeting up with my boss, and he would have to get a haircut.  "I'm good with that." he said with a smug little smile.  So then I dropped the bomb:  he could stay home, but there were to be zero video games.  There was a slight hesitation, but he still held firm to his claim of wanting to hang out with me.  So off we went.

He went from this shaggy little boy:

To this dashing young man:

Don't mind my forehead wrinkles in that second picture.  The other night Sam sat in my lap staring at my face and tracing my wrinkles with his little finger, saying, "What are this Mama?"  Wrinkles.  "This are wrinkles?"  Yes, now learn some better grammar.  But do that after you finish laser tag, because you are so flippin' cute in the gear I just cannot take it.

Also, don't drive angry.

Annnnnnywho, Happy Birthday Sweet Alex!