"My boy"

Good grief, I used the phrase "my boy" a lot in that last post. I guess I was feeling possessive. He had a good birthday but, being one who is easily overwhelmed, ended up feeling sort of grumpy, out-of-sorts, and decidedly un-birthday-like by the time the last firework had gone off but before the loud crown of teenagers came rolling in to our neighbor's driveway at 2:30 a.m. - on a work night, no less - and proceeded to do some mighty loud "flirting" (in case you're wondering, it appears that chivalry is indeed dead), a bit of vomiting, a fist fight, and some hollering from a couple of parents at their wits end. It was the perfect way to cap off a day that reminded me to really (REALLY) cherish age 10 because who knows what 16 might have to offer?!

The kid swears his grumpiness was mostly due to the fact that I made homemade garlic bread instead of getting the kind comes frozen in a bag. It's a tough life, to be sure.

Honestly, though, it's got to be rough to have a birthday on a holiday, never able to have a party on "the day" because your pals are off celebrating with their families. Next year, we've vowed to go to the craziness that is the city fireworks display (not just watch it from our backyard), to get the right sack of garlic bread, and to shut the windows and turn on some loud fans before the teenage aftermath begins.

There's now one last birthday left to celebrate. Luckily, we have a little (now 10-day) breather so we can all muster the festive spirit that A deserves.