HAPPY BIRTHDAY GAVIN!!! (A day early...)
Hola, Wild Boy friends and family, and welcome back to a very special birthday edition of the blog. That's right, we're celebrating survival for another full year for the one, the only, the indomitable Wild Boy Gavin!
Tomorrow, Gavin turns 11, and while I really thought last year would be difficult because it marked the transition to double digits, this year is so much harder. First off, my little man is transitioning to big kid things. All of the sudden it's majors in baseball, its Boy Scouts instead of Cub Scouts, and it's junior high in a matter of months. These are all really hard transitions for a Mommy to make. But I think what's made it even more difficult is that my kid is kind of a punk.
I know, I know, no parent should ever admit this except in hushed whispers to other parents who are hiding from their children behind the cover of a pedicure or grocery shopping. Because really, we all have to feel obligated to blow up social media with how wonderful they are, right? That's what's expected.
Well here you go. Gavin is an honor roll student. He's involved in Leadership, the Stock Market Club, baseball, soccer, scouts, and basketball. He recently got selected to emcee the school talent show with one of his best friends. Teachers adore him, coaches enjoy him, and he seems to have friends wherever we go.
La-dee-da. That's amazing, and believe me when I say I'm proud of him. But for the sake of every parent who has a poophead tween or teen, I'm going to make a concerted effort to keep it real right now. This age is SO FRIGGIN HARD!!! While they want to still be your special kid, they are also struggling for autonomy which means apparently they have to test every damn boundary laid down by the mom. Whenever the mom talks, eyes must roll at how ludicrously out of touch she is. If the mom says someone is nice and you should play with them, you should immediately ignore that suggestion and pick the most Eddie Haskell little punk to spend your time with instead. If the mom says something like "hey kiddo, pretty sure that's poison oak" you should look at her in front of your Eddie Haskell punk friends and tell her no it isn't, and STILL deny it's poison oak the next day when you are covered in it.
Kids are fun.
To be fair, Gav was never easy. We struggled to get pregnant, he was a high risk pregnancy that involved bed rest and a C-section because his giant head lodged under my rib cage, and he was born tiny and kinda sickly looking.
Tomorrow, Gavin turns 11, and while I really thought last year would be difficult because it marked the transition to double digits, this year is so much harder. First off, my little man is transitioning to big kid things. All of the sudden it's majors in baseball, its Boy Scouts instead of Cub Scouts, and it's junior high in a matter of months. These are all really hard transitions for a Mommy to make. But I think what's made it even more difficult is that my kid is kind of a punk.
I know, I know, no parent should ever admit this except in hushed whispers to other parents who are hiding from their children behind the cover of a pedicure or grocery shopping. Because really, we all have to feel obligated to blow up social media with how wonderful they are, right? That's what's expected.
Well here you go. Gavin is an honor roll student. He's involved in Leadership, the Stock Market Club, baseball, soccer, scouts, and basketball. He recently got selected to emcee the school talent show with one of his best friends. Teachers adore him, coaches enjoy him, and he seems to have friends wherever we go.
La-dee-da. That's amazing, and believe me when I say I'm proud of him. But for the sake of every parent who has a poophead tween or teen, I'm going to make a concerted effort to keep it real right now. This age is SO FRIGGIN HARD!!! While they want to still be your special kid, they are also struggling for autonomy which means apparently they have to test every damn boundary laid down by the mom. Whenever the mom talks, eyes must roll at how ludicrously out of touch she is. If the mom says someone is nice and you should play with them, you should immediately ignore that suggestion and pick the most Eddie Haskell little punk to spend your time with instead. If the mom says something like "hey kiddo, pretty sure that's poison oak" you should look at her in front of your Eddie Haskell punk friends and tell her no it isn't, and STILL deny it's poison oak the next day when you are covered in it.
Kids are fun.
To be fair, Gav was never easy. We struggled to get pregnant, he was a high risk pregnancy that involved bed rest and a C-section because his giant head lodged under my rib cage, and he was born tiny and kinda sickly looking.
For real, he was almost a month old in this picture. Seriously tiny. He looked like a chicken embryo for almost a month. Every step with him as an infant, a toddler, a preschooler, seemed to be so daunting, because he went from sickly to Tasmanian devil adrenaline junkie in about a two month period, and he hasn't slowed down since. The things it took to entertain him...my heart still hasn't recovered.
You get the idea. It hasn't gotten any better. But add into that need for constant entertainment and adrenaline the tween hormones that make adorable children into acne ridden, sulking beasts that listen to terrible music (loudly), and he's become really, really fun to be around. I know, I know, it's only going to get worse. Which is terrifying.
This weekend while we were trying to entertain family and prove that we are somewhat normal the boys devolved into a physical fight where one punched the other one, but claims it was only because he was bitten first.
Yes, I'm serious.
So, you can see why we are celebrating his survival. Because while it's impressive his adrenaline seeking hasn't killed him, it's equally incredibly I haven't. Lately I've spent some time contemplating patenting some kind of medically induced coma that would last just until they're pleasant again. Yes, they'd be a few years behind in education, but I'm willing to bet they'd make it up super fast if when they woke up they weren't all distracted by girls, body hair and that horrible, horrible music.
Don't get me wrong guys, I love my kid. I mean really, he's great. Look at this guy -
I'm sure he's going to be an amazing man. Really. Because he is a very good friend to those who need him. With the help of a good sense of humor and some friends who are able to share with me that they also have jerk kids right now I know I'm going to make it through this.
What worries me is when Gabe turns 11 and he turns 13... Until next time, pray for me. Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY GAVIN!!!
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