But first let me say that i cannot even believe that my son is ten whole years old. It truly brings tears to my eyes when i recall a time that he couldn't even talk or walk, or holding him in my arms when his whole body would fit and not just his head and shoulders. He is such a darling, sweet, compassionate young man, despite some upheaval in his young life due to his father's and my tumultuous relationship and subsequent separation. He is loved dearly by his siblings and his friends, and I am truly lucky to have him as my son. It is both joyful and heart-wrenching to see him growing up so fast. I can't believe this was the same Beau:
The night before the party, a mother of a new student in Beau's class first requested that i bring her son home with me from school for the party, but not without meeting me first. Um, ok. Although i do have that pesky penchant for raping little boys whose mothers ask for a ride for them, i am usually able to refrain if i have a Meet N' Chat with the fam beforehand. "Can i meet you before school tomorrow?" she asked via email. No. "Can i meet you after school tomorrow?" Um, no, that also sounds like a complete fucking pain in my ass, but thanks anyhow. "Ok, how about i stop by at 7 o'clock, which is right around bedtime, and is sure to annoy the shit out of you and interrupt the schedule of your exhausted toddlers?" Yyyeah, ok. Fine.
She came by, and was perfectly nice, albeit "worried about spelling" with the new 4th grade teacher. I only wish i had time to worry about, and subsequently discuss, my spelling worries with other parents. We chatted for a bit, and her son and Beau played, and everything seemed just fine. I walked her out to the driveway to her car, and as we were finishing up our chat and her boy was by her car, he began interrupting with "MOM! LET'S GO! I WANNA GO-O-O-O!" Now, although this is of course rather obnoxious, i think it's fairly normal for a boy of nine at 8:30PM on a school night who is listening to a couple of ladies talk....but then....he just started PUKING. And not like finger-down-the-throat spitting up--violently vomiting, like, QUARTS of nasty-ass nasties into the gutter of our street. "It's OK," said mom nonchalantly, "he does this all the time. He's doing it on purpose." I could only stare at her, then at him, and then the mass amounts of bile spewing from his little red head. "He and his brother both vomit on command--SO annoying, right?" Ummmm...RIGHT. Wow. I could only stand there and stare, dumbfounded, as she hurried to the car and left with him.
Forward to the party the next afternoon...afterward i felt like i'd been hit by a truck. For rizzle. Within less than TEN MINUTES of the beginning of the party, the boys had broken a door in our house. And our house was built in the 1890s, so it wasn't some particleboard shit. Evidently something like 9 of them had pushed their collective, hyperactive weight against it till it collapsed off the hinges and fell into the hallway. Unreal. And this was before a possibly radioactive cake, M&M's, and root beer floats.
|Not found in nature...|
Thankfully, exactly on time, Magical Mormon Timothy showed up. Beau (or Beans, as we call him), is way into magic this year, so i had the idea to hire a magician as a birthday surprise. Charlie, his biological father, was in town for the birthday, and did the leg work of hiring Timothy (NOT Tim, make no mistake), who was just about as Mormon as they come. In fact, i'm fairly certain this man was the direct reincarnation of Joseph Smith, even though he didn't use a magic hat except maybe once.
Almost every kid from Beau's class showed up, including all the girls and Deng Deng, the super cute, super African kid who never comes to events outside of school. That is his actual name, by the way. I didn't believe Beau when he first told me this, but it's true. Deng has three siblings who share his last name, but evidently with Deng they just said, "Fuck it. Deng Deng."
--"That's a lot of Deng kids", said my husband when we found out about the multitudinous Dengs.
--"That's a lot of Deng money", i replied, referencing the cost of the Catholic school they attend.
Deng Deng was evidently part of MMT's act, because i swear to God his little purple body totally vanished mid-show. Like, i was sitting there the entire time watching, and the show was within eyeshot of the front door, and i swear his African ass just disappeared into thin air. My natural assumption was that MMT is in cahoots with Brangelina, and he just evaporates attractive little Africans as part of his show and then has them delivered to them for large sums of money.
Then, halfway through the Magical Mystery Tour, Magical Mormon Timothy suddenly turned that shit into a gay rave when he shed his oversize red button-down, stripped right down to his Underarmour and levitated my firstborn. It was fetching RADICAL. This was one magical Mormon motherfucker. This guy even had frosted hair, ok? It was amazingness, and worth every penny (an asston of pennies, to be more accurate). Here's a clip:
Then the straggler. Poor Jason. He was dropped off by what may have been his teenage sister at 3:30, two hours after the party had begun. She kindly asked what time the party ended, and i told her that there was only a half hour left--it ended at 4PM. She spoke perfect English, unlike the rest of his family who are (shocker!) Mexican, so i am certain she understood what i said. We called his parents twice during the two and a half hours he was forced to overstay, and when his dad showed up, he peeked his little swarthy head out the window and said, "Ees Jason here?"
--"Yeah, he's been here since the party ended. At four," i tersely responded.
--"Jason? He my son, he ees here now?"
--"FOUR," i said again, and held up 'that many' fingers as Charlie sharply nudged me in the ribs in a desperate attempt to thwart a melee between my feisty Halfrican (possibly Quarter Rican?) ass and some Mexithug parent.
To top it off beautifully, this was the straggler's gift. Although i can feel the flames of hell licking at my feet, i just cannot stop laughing at this. It seems fairly obvious that they simply took a picture of their negligent family out of the frame and gave it to Beau in what was pretty much identical to the brown bags that Spicy Chicken Crunchwraps come in at Taco Bell:
|"A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone A Man of Vision Sees Potential in Everyone..."|
I am also fairly certain, and hopeful, that they were unable to read this frame, and therefore are unable to read my blog. (God knows i'm thankful my Mexican jumping bean of a brother-in-law can't read, not even in Spanish.) All that said, Beau loved that gift in particular--calling it "poetic", and Jason is a doll--very polite and easy to be around...i just felt so sorry for him. Plus, we were crunched for time, as we had to get to Dave's parents' house to celebrate with the negligent Mexican members of our own family, and it was getting late...