empresspatti (empresspatti) wrote,
empresspatti
empresspatti

Some days are more boring than others

It’s been all about the boy in Empresspattiland.  Number only son turned 15.  Naturally we had a celebration complete with extended family and his meal of choice.  Most of our family gatherings are all about the food. 

 

The whole birthday thing turned into another one of those event meals that keeps me planning, grocery shopping and cooking for two days.  Yippie,  

 

I hate birthdays.  I have no problem getting older.  I just do not ever feel the need to celebrate mine OR anyone else’s birthday.  I know this puts me at odds with the rest of the world.  What is your problem?  It’s a fleeping birthday.  Get over yourself.  Shades of Valentines Day.    

 

I still have nightmares about the kids birthdays, back when they were young. Nothing like having ten 12-year-old girls for a sleepover to put you off birthdays forever.  Or the time we had ten 8-year-old boys and it rained, rained, rained.  We had to move to a new house after that party.

 

Now my daughter (after coming home for the obligatory Home Cooked Meal) goes bar hopping with friends.  Which is what a 19 year old should do.  After the sleepover, I was ready to let her do that for her 13th birthday. 

 

But my Son – In addition to family gathering, he wants chocolate cake home made pizza and to go play paintball.  For the last five years Mr. Wonderful has taken him and three of his friends to a paintball field and there they run around yelling and shooting each other with marbles filled with paint.  It makes a big mess on their shirts (or butts, I pay my son $1 for every time he shoots Mr. Wonderful in the ass).

 

I have never touched a gun of any kind.  We have a bb gun or two around here, and paintball guns, but even those give me a wig.  Just not my thing.  Grew up in the city, no thanks.

 

But boys just want to have guns and play paintball.  My job on paintball birthday is to (surprise) make pizza for 4 hungry boys and Mr. Wonderful when they get home.  They shovel pizza in, show me their quarter sized bruises and brag about who got “out” last. 

 

It occurs to me that I might only have two or three more kid birthday’s to get through.  It is the one part of raising kids I won’t miss.
Tags: some days are more boring than others
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