I've had a day.
Its been the best sort of mom insanity I could have ever hoped and dreamed for, and its every bit as fun as I imagined it to be...
But I am overjoyed, none the less, that it is now the end of the day... and its just me and my iced cold beer sitting mindlessly at the computer amongst the smoldering ruins of streamers and jelly beans gone astray from perpetual party weekend.
My son is 6.
He had his first sleepover. There was just one other boy that spent the night.
It was quite a hit.
We took 5 kids to Chuck E. Cheese.
They all had a blast.
We managed to have a good time too... thanks to BOTH SETS of grandparents that made the 45 minute trek to lend their eyes, ears, and helping hands (BLESS THEM).
I can guarantee you that it was hundreds of times more pleasant than a good majority of the day I was having 6 years ago to the day. Yet there is still something distantly painful about these little anniversaries of the first time I became a mom. It just goes by faster and faster every moment, and it doesn't seem to be slowing down at all...
I just recently found the opportunity to playfully beg Dawson not to turn 6.
He shot right back "Oh, so would you rather I get sick... and die?"
Thats right, folks. My kid is old enough to be witty. My reputation for being the class clown is feeling a little threatened...
I couldnt be more proud of my little legacy in the six years I've had the pleasure of knowing his beautiful face.