Newsletter, Miles

Month 48, Version 2.0

Dear Miles,

Your birthday came and went in a flurry leaving me asking myself, we acknowledged it, right?  Yes, rest assured–I would not forget your birthday.  Although you seemed rather disappointed in my decorating efforts.  I had hung a birthday banner, hung balloons on your kitchen chair and even made a very high school-esque birthday poster with all your favorite characters.  You came downstairs for breakfast, took one look around and asked, is this it?  Listen kid, be happy you didn’t get a candle in your bowl of Cheerios.  Appreciate the effort here.

Your sister is the ripe old age of six which means she’s very persuasive in her arguments and she knows how to manipulate you just so, so that the two of you join forces and attack me with your ideas.  You both came to me wanting a birthday party.  I suggested Disneyland.  You both discussed things over and informed me you would do Disneyland next year.  This year you two wanted a party.  I really despise birthday parties and maybe that makes me a Debbie Downer or an anti-social introvert but they really truly are awful.  I can’t do this article justice but it explains everything perfectly.  The only person who experiences joy during a birthday party is the recipient and sure, you’re the birthday boy, that’s the way it should be but do we really need to torture twenty plus souls so you can experience joy?  I don’t like throwing them and parents equally despise going to them.  I compare receiving a birthday party invitation to getting a jury summons.  Usually upon delivery, I let out a groan and a NOOOOOO!  And then I typically find any excuse under the sun to avoid it.  Oh shoot, we can’t go to that birthday party on Saturday–I was thinking that would be a good day for an enema.

So we decided to throw a combined birthday party for you and your sister because if we’re going to torture our family and friends, might as well do it in one fell swoop.  Finding inspiration from your new Wii obsession, bowling, we decided to throw your party at the Granada Bowl bowling alley in my ol’ neck of the woods.  Some serious good times were had there in my early days.  Apparently my dad used to bring me to the bar there a lot when I was a baby but that’s a different story for a later time.  Anyhow, we avoided the let’s-invite-everyone-in-our-class trend and stuck with neighborhood and close friends.  I refrained myself quite a bit from going over the top with the party planning and instead stuck to the general theme of just letting you and your sister have a good time with your friends.  I consider the party a success since nobody went home in tears and I still had money left in my checking account.

Your birthday also means your yearly visit to your doctor which I typically look forward to.  You rarely go to the doctor outside of your physical and I really like your doctor–she’s the only one who gives me real comfort throughout this whole parenting business.  She always puts my mind at ease and confirms that I’m indeed not raising a sociopath because, let’s face it, there are times I’m not completely sure what I’ve got on my hands.  You were your usual obnoxious self in the exam room: licking your hand and drawing pictures of “dinosaurs” on the window, trying to put your feet in my face while I’m talking to the doctor, getting your head stuck in the arm of the chair–all the things that make me look like I’m the worst parent there ever was.  Your doctor is a smart lady and confirmed everything you are doing is completely normal and typical of boundary-pushing children.  According to her, the boundary-pushers typically grow up to be the smart ones.  I call that blowing smoke up my ass.

You’re really big in to your penis these days so you can imagine the elated joy you experienced when your doctor asked you to lie down on the table so she could take a look.  With your signature shit-eating grin, you loudly ask, MY PENIS?!  You proceed to lie down where she begins her examination which involves some moving of parts and I look down at your face to make sure you’re calm and you start that damn smile again and yell, WHAT’S GOING ON DOWN THERE?  WHAT’S HAPPENING?  WHAT YOU LOOKING AT?  WHOA!  YOU’RE TOUCHING MY PENIS!  WHOA!  Goodness.  Sadly, I just envisioned how your first sexual encounter is going to play out.

I somehow have a small pumpkin farm in front of my house which is a clear indication that Halloween is approaching.  We went to Dell’ Osso farms for the first time this year which is an extreme Halloween destination that included some bizarre air jump in the ground that you and Olivia were obsessed with, a tractor ride, train, scarecrow ride, tram, rides, pumpkin patch and a corn maze which we actually got lost in.  For the whole hour we were lost in the maze, I kept saying to myself, please, please, don’t let my children ask to take a poop.  Miraculously, Olivia didn’t ask until we found the exit.  We left six hours after our arrival on the farm–we left dirty, sunburned, and exhausted and sure enough you asked if we could do it again the very next day.  Lucky for me, I now know just the maze to drop you off at on exceptionally bad days.

Things have been rather hairball around the house lately between the extracurricular activities and me slowly doing some work that is beyond the usual house cleaning butt-wiping responsibilities.  Since I’m doing some work not parent related, I’m looking for ways to make my life somewhat easier which means there is a small chance you might be going to school with Olivia.  I know, it’s super fun doing the tour de Tri-Valley every morning and afternoon but sometimes, you just need to take a step back and say, this makes no sense at all.  Details are still being worked out and I really don’t want to take you from your friends if I don’t have to but apparently you’re still not crazy about your preschool teacher because she still refuses to sing, Little Bunny Foo Foo so maybe the move will happen sooner than later.  Now that I know that song is a deal breaker for you, I will make sure to ask your new teacher if it’s part of his/her repertoire.  What ever happens, I’m sure you will do just fine.

These last four years have been interesting to say the least and from what we’ve experienced thus far, I’m terrified for what is to come.  Despite your inability to speak in any other volume besides shout, a need to sleep with a menagerie of stuffed animals every evening and your general bizarre nature, I just don’t know what I would do without you.  You have for sure made my life far more interesting.  Happy Birthday, my Miles.

Love,

Momma

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