Miracle of miracles....

My child is five.

We've made it. Another year, another set of milestones: learning the alphabet (yes, I am indeed aware we're a little late on this front, but well. we all progress at our own pace, yes? this is why some men are still unfamiliar with foreplay...hopefully, they too will catch on... I digress) writing the alphabet, learning to spell, read, count, and obvserve our feelings.

If that last one seems new to you on the pre-K curriculum, you're not alone.

I was completely caught off-gaurd when I was informed that I "made him sad by yelling at him, and, being inconsiderate hurt his feelings". Now, on the one hand? I'm totally impressed that here he is, a budding man for crying out loud, who knows and can express his own feelings. One the other hand? I hate it. This is why we never gave men the permission to feel in the first place! (okay, so a little overboard, but, well. I've had a lot of cake tonight). Since when is dicipline followed up with the boisterious lament "You're So Mean!"?

We had the requisite parties, and cakes, Spongebob was in attendance, in all his plastic cake topping glory, and there were presents and presents...and, dare I say it? More presents. There was greediness, and grubbiness, sweat and tears, baseball and chalk drawing. I had my ex's family up to MY house (do see both the irony, and the sarcasm in that last statement - it was INTENDED) and fed them, entertained them, and when the hellacious thunderstorm hit, I even got out the matches and lit candles, instead of my x-MIL's hair on fire.

It was a close call, but her hair would've burned way too fast for me to get anything accomplished.

And while I sat there, with my step-daughter up, for the first time in a long time, and she's reading, really reading , and Hunter is astonishing us all with his athletic prowess, I slowly took stock of where we came from, and where we've come. He's five, and she's seven, and we're okay. No. Actually? We're great.

The kids are thriving. Growing. Learning. And still not sleeping. Certainly not in their own beds. And while I drove everyone back home, Riley to her mom, and B to his house, with three huge dogs, two suitcases, three cupcakes, one extra goodie bag, and two rain jackets all smashed into a very small car, I peered at these two huge beings in the backseat. Just as they both drifted off to the lull of the blades on the windshield, I saw, for maybe the last time, a fleeting glimpse of my babies.

I never knew that the greatest loves of my life would be so permanent and yet, so transient.

Happy Birthday H