After the sleepover

We let Henry have a handful of friends sleep over for his birthday, and was that ever a poor decision. This weekend we discovered that for nine-year-old boys, "sleepover" is code for "Hey, let's fling our bodies against each other and then lob ourselves against the walls as if we were human beanbags!" I am amazed that no furniture or spines were broken. How are there not head-sized holes in the walls? And when did my child learn to construct a human catapult?

Because of this apartment living that we chose, there was no escape from the sleepover bedlam. From the screaming and the screaming oh sweet baby Jesus the screaming. Actually it was more of a scream/laugh medley. Scraughter. It is not fun to listen to, even before you're sleep-deprived. Did you know that kids scream like they're being murdered and that this means "Golly, we are just having the funnest time!"? Can you make sense of this? Of course you can't, because you're a reasonable human and not a maniacal child-thing. When given the opportunity to play a nice quiet game of chess or sit silently and think about all they're thankful for, the entire party instead opted to engage repeatedly in something called a "dogpile." I ask you.

We've hosted sleepovers before, but even last year, the guests (and the birthday boy) were younger and more pliable. Our friends thought we were insane when we let five- and six-year-old sleep over, but I'm telling you, that's when you want them. They're easily entertained. They might smell a little funny, sure, but their combined funk does not knock you over when you enter a room. They're so thrilled with the novelty of the event that they'll fall asleep simply from excitement. Whereas once they're nine, they're all gangly and their limbs can and will knock over fragile lamps and also they're brimming with weird nine-year-old emotions. One kid kept tearfully announcing himself "on strike" because he didn't like the choice of activities. Another kid volunteered to help me out, and then did so by bonking the first kid about the head and back with a foam sword and then tossing his shoes down the stairwell. I really. I mean. Have you ever.

At any rate, let the word go forth that I will forever remain reluctant to agree to any kind of sleep- or slumber-themed event, unless the children prove themselves to be mute and/or exceptionally subdued, or our conditions change so dramatically that our squad of governesses can entertain and monitor the guests while we decamp for our country estate. I am sure that my stance will not change a little bit, even when I've completely forgotten how much my head hurt for days afterward, and the day arrives that Henry asks us really nicely. Not even then.

NINE

Today we pause to venerate our Henry, who is officially NINE YEARS OLD. What in the huh? I have no idea how this could have happened. He assured me he would stop growing up, and yet. Yet HERE WE ARE. With most of his pants ending at mid-calf, like he's a Park Slope mom rocking the cargo capris.

Here's a recent picture of him.

Please put a shirt on, dear.

Henry is a little excited about his birthday. And he should be. I didn't think I could possibly fit any more Legos into our home, but (spoiler alert) by the end of this evening, his room will be awash in shiny new pieces. At least he's now keeping them to his room. Because he knows that if they end up anywhere else Mr. Vacuum Cleaner will gobble them up! Gobble gobble gobble!

(I do not actually talk that way about my vacuum. Besides, his name is Derek.)

Also, he will soon be enjoying a new set of Magic: The Gathering: The Card Game: Which I Can't Stand Cards. He really really REALLY wants me to learn how to play Magic and seriously nothing makes me crankier than that game. That game requires math, and I am 100% sure he is making up rules that will lead to him winning. This is fine with me, as long as it means he wins quickly, which he never ever does. I am always on the verge of losing/being destroyed when suddenly he's handing me a +9 life potion card or some shit. He tries to be an encouraging and patient coach but the whole thing makes my brain twitch. Can we just play more Uno, Henry? You know how Mama loves her the Uno.

Henry's birthday this year, like so many other years, has turned into a multi-day and multi-dessert celebration. Of course I had to bring brownies for his class, because they haven't had a birthday in their class since, oh, NEVER, THERE ARE ALWAYS BIRTHDAYS, and in fact today Henry is one of two birthday boys in the class, and the other kid is also bringing brownies. And yet I have to bake as well. I used to go for quality, but I have since wised up, and I used a mix. Suckers!

Tonight, we celebrate with The Family, and so I made a cake from this cookbook, which is an amazing cookbook for those of you who are aspiring Paleo types, are gluten-free, or just have some almond flour on hand (?).  I made it once before in sheet-cake form, and you couldn't tell that it was any different from a regular cake. Today I'm going for a layer cake for the first time since the layer cake debacle of 2005. My sister Liz came over yesterday to talk me through it. So far, so good. I haven't done the frosting yet, though. I might need to take an Ativan first.

Tomorrow we're hosting a sleepover with three other boys, and for that we ordered an ice cream cake, because if there's one thing that kids don't seem to appreciate all that much (or at least enough for my liking), it's a homemade cake. (The last time I watched them all lick the frosting off of their cupcakes and walk away, and then I wept in the bathroom. I get a little overwrought when it comes to baking.) Then the kids will watch Pirates of the Caribbean and refuse to sleep and we will tell them how unamused they are by their antics! In stern parental voices!

Oh and then on Sunday we get to go to ANOTHER kid's birthday party. Seriously, what is it with all these kids and their birthdays? We get it: you were born. NEWS FLASH SO WAS EVERYONE ELSE. EEUGH.

I'm not "eeugh"ing at you, Henry. You I like.

Look who's turning 40 today

It's Scott! Everyone wish him a happy birthday! Go on!

Doesn't he look distinguished?

For my 40th last year, Scott threw me an amazing surprise birthday party and got me a super-fancy camera. For his birthday, I’m getting him the Gift of Packing and Painting! His two favorite activities!

He is a lucky, lucky man.

Actually for his birthday I am taking him for an overnight stay here. And we will be eating dinner here. It will be fantastic.

But those will have to wait for a couple of weeks. Because there’s packing to do, mister! Get to work!

I asked Henry what he loves about his Dad, and he came up with a list. Here it is. I heartily agree with them all. And then some!

Forty things I love about Daddy. By Henry.

1. All his love.

2. He takes me to get a snack after school.

3. He gives me an allowance.

4. He buys me Legos.

5. When he calls me “Buddy bear” or “Hank.”

6. And how bushy is that beard? …not so bushy.

7. The man is strong and a good wrestler.

8. He plays soccer with me.

9. He reads to me a lot.

10. He cuddles.

11. He makes me the best macaroni.

12. He draws funny comics with me.

13. He takes me to the movies.

14. My daddy is very, very kind.

15. I also think he is funny…

16. …and he’s cool.

17. I love how he makes all the funny creations when we’re playing with Legos.

18. His movies are good and detailed.

19. He’s always happy to see me.

20. I like the way he wakes me up.

21. I like the way his glasses make him look funny.

22. He thinks that I’m very kind and good.

23. He tells me that he loves me.

24. He plays me Indiana Jones.

25. I love that I know that he knows that I love him.

26. He tells me stories.

27. He trusts me.

28. He tucks me in at bedtime.

29. He’s the friendliest man I’ve ever met.

30. I like that he can work from home, so we can hang out.

31. I like that he is my Daddy.

32. He sets up the best birthday parties.

33. He helps me find Lego pieces.

34. He’s always proud of me when I say something smart.

35. When we get into fights he always gives me a true apology.

36. He always solves the problem, whenever there is one.

37. He helps me when I’m scared.

38. He lets me do things that are very fun.

39. He always goes camping with me.

40. My Daddy is the best.

Happy birthday, sweetie. You are, indeed, the best. I can’t wait to see you turn into a grizzled old man. It’s happening more quickly than I could have dreamed!

Seven.

As in, that's what my kid is. Today. Henry is seven. Seven! I know.

A few weeks ago we were in the grocery store and he picked up a "7" candle. "Let's get this for my birthday cake," he said.

"No," I said. "I can't buy that. That, you see, is a 7."

"But that's what I'll be!" he said.

"I'm sorry. I just can't do it. Let's get two 3's and a 1!" I suggested.

"Mooooooom," he said. And threw the 7 into the cart. He's seven, after all. He doesn’t put up with my bullshit.



It appears that I must face facts: he's turning into a big kid. He calls me "Mom," now. I've caught him rolling his eyes at me. He insists that he's too old to hold my hand (then almost immediately forgets and grabs for me, and we walk like that for blocks before he remembers). He calls for me in a crowd by shouting "Alice Bradley!" He races me to the curb, and he wins. (Which, okay, isn't saying much, as I am not exactly known for my speed.) We play card games, and he lets me win. He is long-limbed and his baby teeth are falling out far too quickly for my taste and he is reading and writing and humming improvised soundtracks for his Bionicle and Lego adventures and drawing these intricate, complicated schematics that I can't begin to figure out.

He is astounding. I am telling you this completely objectively and not at all because I'm his mother. Look, I don't want to put down your kids, I'm sure they're super, but it's highly possible that I have the Greatest Child in the Universe. Anecdotal evidence strongly supports my theory, is all I'm saying. Although I have yet to conduct an extensive study. I'm going to have to look into some funding.

So far it's been a good birthday. Last weekend we had a slumber party, which we're still recovering from. (Mama's getting old and doesn't handle that sleep-deprivation thing all that well, turns out.) This morning there were pancakes and a couple of Star Wars-themed gifts. We were awarded a group hug for those. After school he's getting a Legos set and Battleship and a Calvin and Hobbes book. Don't tell him, though, it's a surprise.

Next year, he tells me, he's going to be eight. He's already making plans. I keep telling him to slow down, but he just smiles that crazy toothless smile at me, and barrels ahead.