One Year

It’s been one year to-the-date since T left.  In all fairness, it should not be expressed in that way — she left in anger on the 6th of November but in the clear light of the next day, it was the right decision for both of us.  On that day, our break-up became mutual.  I thought so at the time; one year later, a lot has changed but not my feeling that our relationship had reached its end.  I have missed her and, perhaps even more than that, I’ve worried about her.  In January, when I finally tried to convey that sentiment to her, I was firmly rebuffed.  We’ve had no contact since those terse texts.  In that exchange, I offered to talk and apologized for not being able to love her in the way that she needed.  She thanked me but had no other response; no apology or expression toward me of any sort.  That was it.  So our relationship of 11 years ended in a whimper. 

I’ve since had plenty of time to reflect on our years together.  But it’s a one-sided story and I’ve little idea how she thinks of our time together.  I’ve wondered - often - if she ever loved me.  I think that reflection comes from the hardships of the pandemic and our last year together.  I hope that’s true; there was a period when I was deeply in love with her and I thought she felt the same way.  I can only speak for myself, but as I think back on our last few years together, it feels that I spent an inordinate amount of my energy trying to manage her mercurial moods and inexplicable anger; to look after her in the way that she needed.  I recognize that my efforts failed, but I did try.  When things between us were at their most difficult, I would console myself with the notion that when I really needed her, she would be there for me.  I don’t know if I believed that as much as I hoped it would true.  But if the Summer of 2022 revealed anything to me, it was the falseness of that hope.  And by the time of her blow up in November - on my birthday, of all days -  I was simply spent.  The next few weeks brought me a strange sense of peace, followed by a whole lot of regret.  Now, a year later, peace is the more dominant sentiment.  Of course it’s tinged with regret; 11 years together is a long time.  I am not yet accustomed to thinking about my long-term future without a whole lot of uncertainty, a feeling that makes me anxious.  

In the last year, I have had the time - and space - to actually look after myself, an art I mostly lost in the blur of our last few years together.  I am not lonely on my own, though I’m a little scared of growing old by myself and being a burden on JT.  I’m sad; really, really sad that I could never find someone to love me as I am.  This is the second time a relationship that I believed was my forever life plan has failed.  Though the differences in my reactions are telling, in the harder moments, this second failure makes me believe that there is something gravely wrong with me.  Those feelings can run rampant far too easily.  So mostly I square my chin, dismiss these feelings of inadequacy, and remind myself of my better qualities.  I’m kind and funny; loyal and true.  Amazing, smart, and worthy.  Stylish and charming.  Beautiful.  And certainly deserving of better than I was receiving in the life I had with T.  One year out, I don’t know if I entirely believe these things, but I want to believe them.  That has to count for something.  

An All Grown Up Pirate

A few weeks ago, I realized that this picture frame needed a little TLC.  

It has a picture of JT at the age of 4, showing off the pirate costume he received from Santa for Christmas.  That boy loved himself a costume.  At the age of 6, he informed me that he would never be bored as long as he had his imagination.  For years, he put that philosophy to work with the aid of an assortment of costumes.  From Peter Pan to pirates, Indians, cowboys, and for one memorable year, a Scottish kilt, this kid loved indulging in his imagination.  I was that parent who ran her weekend errands with a costumed kid in tow.  It was so frequent that when someone looked askance at me and my rope-toting cowboy at Home Depot, I was perplexed by their curiosity and only later realized that my kid was in a costume.  In May.

These memories flooded back as I cleaned up the frame that holds the pirate picture.  They are also in my mind today, as my little pirate turns 18.  Costumes are long gone, replaced by a succession of athletic uniforms.  Today he wrestled his final match of the season and, in his case, the final match of his wrestling career.

As he set out on the mat and got last-minute advice from his coaches, I watched with a full heart.  In the last few years, as childhood has faded and once chubby cheeks turned into prominent cheekbones, school teams with amazing coaches have allowed JT to challenge himself and figure out who he wants to be.  He’s grown up as these patient coaches guided him forward, put up with his smart mouth, pushed him to exceed his expectations, and taught him that hard work has rewards beyond victory.  

He will head off to college in a few months, ready to wear a new uniform and run for a new team.   He was made ready by the years he played on the teams of our school.  Its fitting that the man who taught him in PE class at age 4 and who was his first cross country coach in 7th grade was also there for his last match in a RPS uniform.  One of the other coaches made a picture of them after today's match and I will cherish this photo.  In it, I see that boy that was, the 18 year old that is, and the man he will become, standing next to one of the finest human beings I know, a coach who guided him along the way.

I miss the little pirate.  But I’m proud and grateful for the 18 year old who replaced him.  Happy Birthday, son!

That’s Happy! What Else?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the mixed feelings that I have about turning 50.  This morning is the big day.  One of the nice things about being 50 is that I am both aware and grateful for the many blessings in my life.

I’ve declared a week’s worth of celebrations because I can.  Today, the celebration  began before dawn with a book from T and handmade card from JT.  There’s news of a surprise breakfast at work.  I’m starting off strong!

The rest of the day will include going out to supper and opening more presents with T and JT, the people who are the core of my daily world  This year, I treated myself to a present in the form of some Rifle Paper notecards and some books from Bas Bleu, two treats that are in perfect alignment with the bookworm girl I’ve been (and plan to be for my next half century).

I think that’s the best gift of being 50….the gift of knowing just who you are and being okay with your quirks and peculiarities.  Not just forgiving them but embracing them as the ingredients that make you who you are.  Like many women I know, I haven’t always been persuaded of my self-worth.  Having a child nearly 18 years ago involved making a pledge to myself to set aside those self-doubts so that they didn’t poison my child’s sense of his self-worth.  Often that’s been acting confident even when I didn’t believe in myself.  But all those years of a “fake it ’til you make it” approach have paid off and I’m glad of that.

The last 10 years have taught me that I must find hope and happiness where it is.  On my darkest days, I always look about to find a moment of grace.  Then I acknowledge it and value it.  From that point of view developed my habit of declaring things “that’s happy.”  I learned the phrase from a children’s book featuring a brother and sister set of bunnies.  The littlest one, Willa, says of all the good things in her day, “That’s happy!  What else?” I liked the idea that happiness could be everywhere and that we could still expect even more of it and so I embraced it for my own.  I find the happy things in my world and I declare it.

Today I have a family and a job that I love, a soft bed and a house that always feels like home, a celebration to enjoy, a good book to read.  I’m wearing shiny shoes and a terrific skirt I scored off the bargain rack.  There are presents, sweets, and flowers in my world.  I know that I am blessed beyond measure.  That’s happy!

What else?

Birthday Boy

JT turns 17 today.  When he was first born, a friend told me, “the days are long, but the years are fast.”  At the time, I wasn’t sure what she meant.  But today, it’s abundantly clear.  On Monday night, as he sat at the table making a Valentine for his sweetheart, he reflected that he’s changed a lot this year.  These sorts of conversations, with a son who is self-aware and thoughtful, are the rewards of being the mama of a teenager.

It makes up for the piles of laundry, the occasional bad moods, and the messy bedroom.

This past year has seen JT challenge himself both athletically and academically.  It’s given me the satisfaction of hearing my son say that he enjoyed writing a History paper.  I’v cheered him across finish lines, both real and figurative.  The past year has shown me how well he knows himself, a happy development.

A few weeks ago, I had the same dream a few nights in a row.  In the dream, I was looking after a friend’s baby, bringing the baby outside to return him to his family.  In my dream, the baby was familiar and lovely with dark hair and even darker eyes.  I handed him over to his family and then woke up to realize that the familiar baby was my baby; JT as an infant.  It doesn’t take Freud to interpret the thoughts of my subconscious.  I’ve known for a while now that I’m getting ready to send my bird from his nest and into the world to make his own way.

If I’m being honest, I’m not sure that I am ready for him to leave the nest.  But with each day that passes, I can see that step-by-step, he’s closer to launch.  I am as proud of him as I can be.  Happy Birthday, sweet boy!

November 6

Today, I turn 49 years old.  My last two weeks of feeling like death on a cracker make a birthday seem especially sweet.  In the past year, I’ve made peace with my need to wear glasses instead of contact lenses and generally embraced the fact that aging has its virtues.  Mine include grey hairs……lots of them.  But I like to think that I’m holding my own at 49.

My weekend has been a relaxing combination of time spent withT and JT, two of the nicest blessings in my life, and an assortment of the things I love most.  I had a couple of extra naps.  We went out to supper and watched some Longmire episodes on Netflix.  There were great presents from people who know me well and love me anyway.  I set out November decorations on my front porch, read a good book, and planted some tulip bulbs in anticipation of the coming spring.  There was chocolate cake.

In years past, my birthday has fallen on election day.   That’s always felt fitting and this year we’ll celebrate again on Tuesday.  I’m crossing my fingers and toes that it’s a celebration of a most hopeful sort.   I’m a patriot, a woman who named her only child after a president, a teacher of American history who still cries every year when I read the Declaration of Independence out loud with my students.  I know that my nation is not perfect but I believe in the promise of America.  We are a diverse people who can do great things when we work together.  As I head into my 50th year, I’d dearly love for it to be a year of working together in an America with hope as its central value.

Two more days.  Let's do right by one another, America.

16 Years

16 years ago today, I became a mama.  The run up to that day was exhausting but the day itself was exhilarating and empowering in ways I could have never imagined.  After my son’s birth, I felt whole and complete.  It was amazing to hold the baby I had so long wished for and the feeling has never left me.  16 years later, I can’t fathom life without this boy of mine.  

When I first held my little bundle of dark-eyed baby, my mind ran wild with imaginings of the boy and then man he would become.  16 years later, those musings are now alive and well in the form of a teenager who is sometimes funny, sometimes vexing, and always the boy who made my life feel whole.  We share podcasts and music, have lengthy debates about topics that range from baseball’s DH to the importance of criminal justice reform.  We’ve agreed to disagree about Pete Rose, though neither of us can resist the occasional pot shot on that topic.  We share a wry sense of humor and a bond forged by love and laughter.

It’s been a journey, getting to 16, and the years have flown past at a pace I could not have imagined all those years ago.  My job in the next two years is to prepare him to take flight into the world, a role that is both thrilling and bittersweet.  As tall and strong as he is, in my heart he remains the baby who hung the moon in my world 16 years ago.  Happy, happy birthday, son.

15

Fifteen years ago today, JT was born.  At 7 pounds, 9 ounces and 20 and a 1/2 inches, he seemed awfully tiny.  So tiny that we marked ounces and inches.  But tiny can be quite demanding and his needs quickly reorganized my world.  Back then, I was the center of his world and he was the center of mine.  

Things have changed over the last fifteen years.  Today, he is 5 foot, 10 inches; 175 pounds of mouth and energy.

What is most remarkable about the transition from then to now is how quickly fifteen years flew by.  It was just the blink of an eye before my sweet-smelling baby turned into a chatty five year old.   

The five year old was eventually replaced by a charming ten year old.  

The baby has vanished; the five year old is long gone.  The ten year old has disappeared.  In their place I have a tall teenager who shaves and looks a lot more like a man than a little boy.  More than anything else, the transition to high school and the 9th grade has revealed to me how rapidly time has passed.  In less then four years, he’ll head out the door of our home to college and the world beyond.  Such independence seems an unthinkable development from the small bundle that I once held all day and night.  But unthinkable as it is, the years march by quickly.

JT & Tiger

JT & Lucy

More than ever, I’m aware that these days my job as a mama is to send him forth in the world to be his own person.  High school has a way of urgently driving home that point.  We spend a lot of time in the car together, driving to the next early morning athletic practice or coming home from a late night game (or meet….the language varies by season).  Things in our world are planned week by week; athletic season by athletic season.  Once home, he retreats to his attic space.  The toys from what we used to call the playroom are gone and it's now a place to study, complete homework, rest with a cat by his side, and laugh with his friends.    We’re a long way from five and even further away from the baby who once needed me for everything.  

Where we once spent every minute together, I’m now involved in the deliberate process of preparing him to be away from me and on his own.  That means that his school and team obligations often come first.  I don’t complain about 7 am Sunday practices or team busses that return long after dark.  In this way, I show with my actions that I believe in him and his choices.   

I am mindful now that my job is to prepare him to leave the nest and soar.  His need for safe independence grows daily.  Step by step, I am preparing myself to let go.  This year, I’ve began to truly absorb how fleeting JT's childhood has been.  He’s the very center of my universe; the core of my being.  His birth made me the the person I am today.  That I am systematically preparing him to leave my side seems like a self-inflicted wound.  But that is what a mama does.

Happy Birthday, JT, you’ll always be your mama’s baby.

Real Life Conversations with JT: Life Evaluation edition

The backstory:  Yesterday, JT asked me how I felt about my upcoming birthday, when I will turn 47.

Me:  Well, when I was your age, I don’t think I imagined this is where I would be at 47.

JT:  You have a steady paycheck, a nice girlfriend, a place to live, and you've been to Europe. Plus, you have a bad-ass, amazing 14 year old son.  You have a good life.

Put that way, I guess I’m in good shape.

6 Dozen Cupcakes

JT started preschool at our school the year he was 3.  Yesterday, he turned 14.  That’s a lot of time at one school and some of his classmates have been his friends for nearly all of his life.  Among the traditions at our school is the option to bring in a treat to share with your classmates on your birthday.  Over the years, I’ve baked dozens of cookies, cupcakes, and brownies as birthday treats.  Typically, I made enough to give a treat to all of his classmates and to share with the teachers.  We’re a small school with small classes and 3 dozen cookies usually did the trick for the whole grade when he was in the Lower School.

When he got to the 5th grade and Middle School, the number of treats he needed to bring increased.  The treats are shared at morning meeting (a daily event for the whole of the Middle School) and if you choose to celebrate, you must bring enough to share with your whole grade.  That year, I baked 4 dozen cookies.  The class got larger each year and these days JT has sixty-one 8th grade Class of 2018 classmates.

That is a lot of cupcakes.

Because I am in the Middle School this year, I have seen the happiness that accompanies the sharing of birthday treats.  The birthday celebrant hands out to everyone and a few of his or her friends stand up and announce that there is a birthday in the house.  Everyone says happy birthday and the kids take a great deal of pleasure in these distinctly old-fashioned celebrations.  It’s the kind of tradition that builds community and it’s fun to be a part of it.

Last year, I grumbled a bit about the number of treats we needed to bring, though I complied with the request.  This year, with my window into the world of Middle School birthday celebrations, I was happy to help out.  Though it’s not easy to bake 6 dozen homemade cupcakes, that’s what the boy wanted to share and so I obliged.  As we loaded them into the car yesterday morning, I paused to think about the many years we have brought treats to school.  This year’s collection, the 11th we have brought, will also be the last.  Birthday treats are not a tradition in the Upper School.

I made chocolate cupcakes with ganache icing.  They were delicious, as JT would say, but yesterday they also tasted a little bittersweet.

14 Years

JT turns 14 today.  As usual, when he tucked into bed last night, he reviewed the fact that when he wakes up he will  be 14.  Much like young children enjoy marking half birthdays, he likes this precision.  Come the morning, he will already be 14.

13 was a sometimes rough year.  At some point, I called my parents and offered a blanket apology for everything I had done and said in the 7th grade.  I meant it.  A friend who has three children, all of whom survived the 7th grade (as did she), assured me that it was the low point.  I needed to believe that and clung to the claim when things were hard.  This too shall pass became my parenting mantra.

Things have evened out considerably now.   We worked at it and talked and he learned a lot about himself.  He’s a much happier boy on this birthday.  Really, I should say he’s a much happier young man because in the last 6 months I’ve increasingly seen glimmers of the man he will become.  He’s passionate about sports and liberal politics.  He angers at a world that does not seem just.  He laughs easily and has a quick sense of humor.  He helps out around the house without complaint.   He’s gotten good about managing his schoolwork.  He’s strong.  At moments, he’s terribly sweet and self-aware.

Of course, there is still something of a boy in him.  He likes to wear shorts all year long.  He loves to play outside in any weather, games that are still of his imagination and will consume him for hours.  He thinks there’s no reason a 5 foot 9 teenage boy with a ratty mustache looks threatening in sweats and a hoody, despite the fact that the world has told him otherwise.  

At night when he’s tucked into his bed and I can hear his familiar breathing, I think of the baby he once was.  I picture the chubby cheeks and I remember the smell of his freshly washed neck.  I think of those days when he was small enough to rest easily on my hip and I could hardly imagine that he would one day tower over me.  I  marvel at how far we’ve come and I love him with the same fierceness I did the moment I saw him 14 years ago.

Happy Birthday, sweet boy.  Your mama loves you.

Polka Dot

The last time I went to Orlando, I spotted these giant tea cup garden pots at Epcot Center and I was charmed.  

My garden isn't quite the place for such an item, so I put out the word that I would like a smaller tea cup garden pot.  T found one and last year for Mother's Day, she and JT filled it with plants it for me.

This past summer, Mother Nature fired up a big wind that cleared all the plants on my porch right off the table.  My tea cup was broken beyond repair.  For my birthday, I mentioned that I would like a polka dot planter.  I also mentioned that I hadn't seen such a thing.  T outdid herself and found a polka dot tea cup planter.  

I am spoiled.

Mama's Boy

For most of the last 6 months, T and I have been making jokes about JT being 12-teen.  We are referring to the arrival of adolescence with its attendant mood swings and hormonal surges.  Today, JT turns 13 and is "officially" a teenager.  This is both a cause for celebration and a moment to pause and prepare for the roller coaster ahead.

In the last year, he has grown more than 3 inches and he's now taller than me.  Kid and boy-sized clothes are out of the question.  I swear that if I watch closely enough, I can see his gangly legs stretching before my eyes.  I sometimes call him Baby Hulk because he is at times completely unaware of his size and strength.  He clatters through our wood-floored house and it sounds like a herd of elephants are on the stairs.  He swings his arms and legs around and my instinct is to duck and get out of the way.  I know he doesn't intend any harm, but wow he is big and strong.

I was once a 13 year old and so some of what he is feeling is familiar to me.  But I wasn't ever a 13 year old boy and though it seems like a silly cliche to say it:  boys are different.  In the aftermath of his concussion, an injury that happened when he was taking on a physical challenge,  I've realized that as he grows taller he's also becoming stronger.  This newfound strength and power is truly a wonder to him.  Sometimes, he quite literally doesn't know what to make of his ever-changing body.  At other times, he's only too eager to leap on a physical challenge.  For a mama, this is both exciting and terrifying to see.  I've a feeling I've not made my last trip to the ER.

If 13 is anything like the last few months of 12, it will feature strong opinions joined with strong emotions.  But lately, just when I despair that he will ever see the big picture, he says or does something that reveals a startling self-awareness and ability to sympathize with the world that makes my heart swell with pride.  And so I keep at the job of being JT's mama and I love him with a joy and a power that has only grown since the day this baby first came into my world.  He's a well-loved young man, this child of mine.  And no matter how tall and powerful he grows, he'll always be his mama's boy.

Though seriously, kid, why so tall?

On Twelve

Yesterday afternoon, JT and I headed out to Modell's, armed with some birthday gift cards and a baseball-related wish list: he wanted catcher's gear.  Little League practice has already gotten underway and the boy is eager for another season behind the plate.  The time had come to invest in his own gear. 

As JT tried on the gear and adjusted it all to suit, I was struck by how very quickly the years have passed by.  When I welcomed that 7 pound baby bundle into my world twelve years ago, I knew in theory that a boy would some day follow.  Even so, at that moment in the middle of the night on February 17, 2000, it seemed like such a time was far, far away.

And yet, here I am, the mama of a young man.  He's charming and funny, on the cusp of the world of adolescence (see: iPod, iPad, command of baseball statistics, eagerly read stories in Sports Illustrated, and size 10 feet) yet still willing to embrace some of the trappings of childhood (see: the bins of Playmobil in the playroom, his enduring affection for games of tag, the imaginary games he plays outside, his willingness to call "I love you Mama" as he walks to school in the morning).  I feel the passage of all this time.  As often as I see glimpses of the little boy he once was, I can see glimpses of the man he will become.  And as much as I long to slow the passage of time, I am so very excited to see the future of this seven pound bundle of joy.

Happy Birthday, sweet baby boy of mine.

Real Life Conversations with T: Spoiled edition

The backstory: Last weekend, T helped me to bake up half of the cupcakes JT ordered up for his at-school birthday celebration on Friday.  I baked another batch during the week and tonight, after baseball practice and homework supervision, I dipped all 47 of them in shiny ganache so that they would be ready to go to school.

Me:  I got all the cupcakes ready for JT to take to school.  It was quite a display.

T:  You don't think that is spoiling the boy, do you honey?

Me:  Spoiling?  Me? 

 For the record, I am prepared to acknowledge that I am sometimes indulgent.  Sometimes.

Real Life Conversations with JT: California Dreamin' edition

The backstory:  When we visit our California relations, JT and I avail ourselves of their fancy ice and water dispensing refrigerators.  We didn't have one of our own in New Jersey, so at home we made ice cubes by hand.  JT was always impressed by the automatic ice lifestyle and he longed for a share of the action, but he was convinced that such luxuries were only available in California, as was revealed when he came home from a visit to a friend's house last summer.

JT:  At X's house, their fridge makes cold water and ice, like in California.

Mama:  Oh yeah?  That's nice. 

JT:  How do you think they can do that in New Jersey?  Do you think they once lived in California?

Mama:  They must have a fridge from California.

JT:  They must. I wish that we could get a fridge from California.

Mama:  Maybe someday, honey.

As it turns out, some Californians bought us a fridge for my birthday and Christmas (thanks, Mom and Dad!) and now we're making ice cubes and cold water like those fancy left coasters.  Come on over for iced drinks at our house, Internet.

T Minus 70 Minutes

Tonight is party night at Sassafras House.  At 4 pm, JT's having some boys over to celebrate his birthday.  We've got a boy bacchanalia on tap: Pizza, liters of soda, a Costco-sized bag of potato chips, and a giant homemade chocolate cake and ice cream to polish off at the end of the night.

With the generous nagging help of his grandmother and me, JT managed to get the playroom in condition to receive the boys and their sleeping bags.  He's got 3 different movies to entertain his brethren, though in my experience these boys never lie still and watch the movie. 

I've sworn a promise that there will be some sleeping tonight lest they go pancake-free tomorrow morning.  Grandma and I are suited up and ready to rumble.

Bring it.

Practically Perfect

My sister flew into town on Thursday morning, to help celebrate my birthday.  She took the red eye from California and landed on a rainy, cold morning.  And, typical for KO, she was a woman with a plan.  So it was a whirlwind of a weekend.

On Friday, we started the day in Princeton to visit the stationary stores.  Then we went to NYC for the afternoon.  We went to Tiffany's first and then walked back uptown, stopping at stores that caught our interest and making the occasional picture of our selves.

 Direction and supervision was provided by KO and her phone (a phone far smarter than me, as my inability to make pictures with it will surely testify).

One of our weekend pleasures was to see Mary Poppins on Broadway.  KO made fun of me for choosing Poppins, but I think she should be flattered.  Mary Poppins is the amazing, magical person who appears just when you need her.  My sister, who flew in on a stormy day and left in the sun, is exactly the same.

Thanks for the visit, KO.  It was just what I needed.

Party On

A few years ago, when JT turned 8, I organized a sleep over party for 8 boys.  The theme: 8 for 8.  It was very loud in my house.  Clearly, I am a woman who learns her lessons.....this year, for his 10th birthday, we had just 7 boys to spend the night.  That's still a lot of boys.

My friend Miss A joined us for the fun.  She provided necessary humor and good sense, as well as quick service for hungry beasts.   She also made an emergency sugar run on Sunday morning when I realized I didn't have enough sugar on hand to make the breakfast muffins....disaster averted, thanks to the amazing Miss A.

Once the party got under way, the cats were having none of it.  For the majority of the night, they staged a silent protest.  After I managed to get the boys in the sleeping bags in the playroom, the cats briefly emerged to stalk about the living room, looking like they had developed PTSD. 

Some of the boys fell asleep by 11 and so I hit the sheets and promptly fell dead asleep.  At 1 am, I awakened to a whispered uprising in the rafters.  I headed upstairs to lay down the law, using my best teacher voice.  Quiet (briefly) ensued.  The boys came awake by 6:30 the next morning, a little early for my weekend tastes.  By 10, the beasts had been returned to their parents and my home returned to its peaceable kingdom status.

But JT has some very happy memories and my sanity is making a slow return.  So I think we can call the weekend a success.

Live Blogging the Sleepover: The Morning After

Though it's now south of 7 am, the boys were awake at 6:15. The night before I had instructed them to lie in bed until at least 7.

Ha.

They have a pathological need for privacy in the bathroom and I have an old home. The bathroom door upstairs can be firmly shut. But, once shut it's a little difficult for a 9 year old to open. So they go to the bathroom in pairs, one holding the door shut while the other attends to business. And they do not have a quiet setting. The bathroom is 5 steps from my bed and so......I was also awake at zero dark thirty.

I dozed to the sounds of my home being destroyed and then came downstairs for coffee.

Lucy spent a weary night in bed with me. Tiger remains in stealth mode and we have yet to see him.

Soon, I shall commence to make pancakes.

8:02 am
Bacon is cooking; pancake production has begun.

9:11 am
Pancakes have been eaten; the table has been cleared; the dishwasher is running. Final pancake tally: 16 pancakes, 1 quart of milk, half-pound of bacon. God save me when these boys become teenagers.
Tiger the cat has turned up to expressively complain about the continuing boy-related noise. The boys are upstairs playing with the Wii. Tiger is on my lap and I am about to read the paper. Estimated time of boy departure: 10 am.

Estimated time for Mama's morning nap: 10:30 am.

10:50 am
I am down to one boy and I believe it to be the one I started with. Headed for a hot bath with some chai tea and then a nap.

The party can be considered a success.

Live Blogging the Sleepover

JT has recently turned 9 and no birthday would be complete without a party. And 9 year old boys like sleepover parties. And so it is that tonight I am the proud host of 5 extra boys, who joined the regular inmate for an extremely loud celebration.

They arrived at 5 pm. I haven't seen the cats since.

At 6:45, they ate some snacks and played Uno as they waited for the pizza to arrive.
Looks downright civil, no? Perhaps the aftermath will provide a more accurate perspective.
At 9ish, I've promised to light the candles on some homemade chocolate cake. Guest V, a long-standing fan of my baked goods ( he once told the 2nd grade that I made the best cookies in the world), has already requested that I save a piece to bring home to his big sister, thus confirming V's place in my heart.

8:08 pm
There is an odd quiet upstairs. And then a shout: who left the toilet open? Perhaps I should check on things.

8:30 pm
I have just confiscated the remote control fart machine.

9:00 pm
2 of the boys just came downstairs for a drink of water. They had the following conversation:
N: Good sleepover, huh?
E: Yeah.
They were like two old men discussing the Monday night game.

9:30 pm
Cake! I used sparkler candles...makes for quite the fiery demonstration.
Brief quiet while they crammed cake and ice cream into their mouths. It won't last.
10:08 pm
That would be the children all tucked in their sleeping bag beds to watch Indiana Jones (restful, those movies). Notice that the birthday boy scored himself the spot on the futon. E seems to have disappeared all together in this photo, but I hear him talking so it would seem that he's alive and well.

Any chance I'm asleep before midnight?

10:55 pm
Heading upstairs to quiet the beasts and tuck myself into bed. Still hoping to sleep before midnight.