A Dozen Years of Mothering

Today, I reach that milestone of having been a mother for 12 years.

Yup, Monkey Boy turns tweleve today … I’m happy to just go with it first thing, but he’s insisting he’s not actually twelve until 9.53 this evening (or whetever time it was that he was born). Given that time is way past my bedtime, I don’t think I’ll be up for it.

And I have to admit, I’m not feeling so great about this birthday; you know how you reflect on all those birthday’s past and all you did?

Well, this one – like the last few years -haven’t been top of mind. This one in particular has been a little down the list, which disappoints me, as all birthdays are special, and I really wanted this one to be. I’ve dropped the ball on so many things and it isn’t what I pictured it to be this time last year, when the party/celebration wasn’t all I wanted it to be.

It’s kind of a sucky time of year, and this year it is sucked into the void that is high-pressure guitar concert and grade 6 graduation preparation and organisation. As well as shitty house stuff, finances and … well, you know, life in general.

So, with a little under a week’s notice, we have family and friend’s arriving at the same time, at the same place (our house) to celebrate this momentous occasion.

The fridge is still in the middle of the teensy kitchen, as someone is allegedly coming out today to see what caused the air-con to leak as it did.

There is a cake to be made; and this year, I haven’t organised it weeks ahead … and Monkey Boy, picking up on the stress of the last few moments, is being incrediblly accommodating and saying “Oh, I don’t mind” … which, really, is more annoying than “Can you do a complete replica of the Death Star in mud cake?”

At least then I wouldn’t have to think too hard and make a decision. I could say “No, how about we stick a LEGO Man on top instead” … I’d have some direction. He’s giving me nothing.

I make a mud cake anyway, wonder at how Chippie has managed to cover his entire face and all of one arm in the cake mix, and give Monkey Boy the afternoon off parkour.

He claims it was because he’d rather be home, helping with party prep, but I suspect it may have been because I insisted on taking cakes and having everyone sign ‘Happy birthday’ to him.

He’s no fun, and ruins all of mine.

Cakes made, air-con looked at and fridge returned to its rightful position, I have myself the first shower I’ve had in two days and take Monkey Boy out

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