I’ve been trying to make the annual birthday post all day today but it just won’t flow. Maybe because I just don’t want to come to terms with the fact that my kid is 18.
HOLY FUCK!!! MY KID IS 18!!!!
No flowery, motherly poetry here. He’s 18!!!
Did you know… my kid is going to vote in the next election??? Oh holy christ, someone hand me a beer.
This is for you, dude. Happy Birthday.
My kid turned seventeen today. Every year I’ve written some blog entry or journal entry about my son on his birthday. You know, that mushy-mommy-thing. But my kid is seventeen. He’s growing into a fine young man now. It’s time to let go, while I’ll treasure these memories forever.
So, this year I’m just going to say Happy Birthday to my dude. You’re a great kid and I wouldn’t trade the world for you. And, btw, I’m so relieved you’re just having the D&D party you asked for this weekend and not the party I had for my 17th birthday that got out of hand. I had people showing up for that one I didn’t even know, and some weirdo ended up hitting on my mother!
Yeah, I’m glad you’re my kid. 🙂
My son is sixteen years old today. My baby boy – no – my young man, is sixteen.
Remember sixteen, and all that came with it? I had so much fun at sixteen….
I won’t go on again about that tiny bundle I held so many years ago. I write about my son every year, and that seems to make it into the story every time. A mom will treasure that moment for a lifetime, but at some point her child does grow up.
As proud as I am of my boy, the thought makes me a bit wibbly (and, yes, he will always be my “boy”, no matter how old he is).
I’ve been writing a birthday journal entry about my son since he was seven. Most of them are in my private journal. I’ve looked at all of them today because I’m truly at a loss for what to say on his sixteenth birthday.
I could pour all the motherly love and memories in the world into my entry, but that doesn’t convey what it means to be sixteen, nor does it make this day stand out from any other day. I love him just as much the rest of the year ‘round. I could write “a letter to my sixteen-year-old-self” for my son to read, in hopes of saving him the troubles I experienced and mistakes I made, but the maternal curse is real and he is living proof. He would nod and smile, feign attention, but take it with more than just a grain of salt, because it comes from his mother (as healthy as our relationship may be). He has to see for himself.
So, after sixteen years, I find myself looking at the young man I’ve raised. I’m the luckiest mother in the world and couldn’t ask for a better son.
Happy Birthday, my teenboy. I hope you have as much fun at sixteen as I did. Well…. maybe not that much fun. 😉
Tomorrow is my birthday; a day in which I will turn another year younger. Someone asked if I have an odd portrait hiding somewhere in my attic. I’ll never tell. 😉
This past weekend we had a party at my house, and really, I was a bit overwhelmed at the response. I invited some of my close friends and family. But people drove from out of town! And, y’know, just hanging out with everyone and having a blast was the best present, ever. I don’t think I’ve thrown a party like that in quite some time.
I realized just how good the party was the next morning, when I woke up and got a look at the kitchen. No pictures were taken – it was that much of a mess. I think we’ll call it Hurricane Duch.
Best takeaway of the party: Krystie made a yummy plate of chocolates. I need the recipe, because the salted ones were oh, so good.
Good morning, everyone! I’m off to have coffee now. Have a great day!