My baby turned fourteen at 2:13 a.m. this morning. While rapidly approaching manhood, he still has one foot solidly planted on terra childhood. He came in to say goodnight last night, and when I told him not to stay up too late he replied "oh no, i'm going to bed right now so that it can hurry up and be my birthday." He even added a "wake me up early" to that, in spite of the fact that he's skipping school today (oh yes, I am totally that kind of mommy). He didn't want to miss a second of potential birthday enjoyment, which is totally fabulous!!! He will spend the day eating cupcakes and ruining his retinas playing a new video game. Good stuff.
I, on the other hand, trudged off to work in the sub-20 degree windchill, and I just can't help but feel like there's something wrong with this picture.
I think it's the MOMMY who should be getting the day off on a kid's birthday. After all, wasn't it MY accomplishment, originally, that created this whole situation?
I could really use a day off. I have an impressive, and as yet, unstarted, list of Christmas crafts that need, not only to be commenced and completed, but also put in the mail. Cards to address, gifts to wrap, boxes to procure, items to be swaddled in bubble wrap. You get the picture. Having dedicated the previous weekend to helping my offspring complete THEIR shopping, I did not actually manage to get to any of mine.
Yes. A day off would be just the ticket. In honor of birthdays, cupcakes, motherhood and all that is holy. Maybe I'll just leave work a liiiiiiiiitle bit early. Like, say, 12:45.