So the boy turned nine a couple of weeks months ago, and it hit me – that’s the last of the single digit birthdays around here. I made it a point when MaM was running through the digits to buy a numeral candle every year, probably because I love them. Plus, it makes it REALLY easy to remember which birthday is which when you have a cloud of unsorted digital photos (ahem). I found the 9, and from now on, we’re going to need the 1 to go with the rest of the birthdays around here.
We celebrated with camp friends, pizza delivery and a movie dinner. Then we celebrated with more friends and laser tag and more pizza and a NERF arsenal that’s rather impressive.
And for a few seconds, I was nostalgic. The “baby” is halfway to 18. There are no more numeral candles to buy. Sigh.
Then he got invited to a sleepover, packed his own backpack, and left without a look back. And while I’m still sighing, I realize it’s all really, really good.
Happy birthday, kid – we love you gobs and gobs!
Ugh – Slow these kids DOWN! I hate it. I don’t want to have an icky teenage boy! (And I also have a huge stash of zero-through-9 candles that have gotten great mileage, thanks to the herd of nieces and nephews! Figure I”ll keep them around for the future grandkids… )