Birthday Boy

Does anyone else notice their blood-and-flesh, maybe the under-18ers among them, getting a little, oh, cranky right around the time of their birthdays? As if these massive emotional clouds of excitement, anticipation, anxiety, anticlimax, self-centeredness, etc., just sort of collide and produce some summer lightning? Maybe a thunder roll or two? Like, on an annual basis?

Just checking.

So, on a totally unrelated note, yesterday Ian turned nine! Boy oh boy, this means that I have been a momma for nine years, too. At times, I find it hard to fathom a time that this was not the case (you mean I once drove a sporty Saturn? I slept in past seven thirty on Saturdays? Get outta town!), while at others, I almost feel like I'm still playing house, parading around in my Mommy costume. Any moment now someone's going to discover me for the impostor I am and replace me with a Real Mommy, someone who's never caught in public without wet wipes.

But in honor of the child who first made me a mother, here you go. I'm proud of his first place finish in the 12-and-under division of the tournament, of course. But what matters more to me is hearing him turn to his friend, a rank beginner who was heartbreakingly sporting about missing almost every target, and exclaim, "T, we are going to practice practice practice at my house from now on. Because I want you to be really good at this!"

(Template from Elemental Scraps; paper from Shabby Princess "Happy Go Lucky.")