Nine

Last week marked the ninth anniversary of when I became a mother.

My oldest child turned nine.

It’s funny how is seems unreal to me that my daughter is seven, but it doesn’t seem that strange that my son is nine.  Although, I don’t really feel like I’m old enough to have a nine year old.

We celebrated by playing baseball in the park on Saturday.  It was fun.  It was a beautiful day – 70 degrees and sunny.  Today it is raining and the high is 52.  That night we went to dinner at Red Robin. He likes to go there because he orders macaroni and cheese off the kid’s menu and they give you a refill of macaroni and cheese.

He wanted to make sure that the waiter knew it was his birthday.  I let the waiter know, and my son was thrilled that they might sing to him.  When they did come over and sing, he looked like he was hating it, but I think inside, he was loving it.  And he got a free ice cream sundae out of it, so you can’t beat that.

For his birthday he got a new cd player for his bedroom (it even has a tape deck – talk about old school!), a basketball, a couple Tech-Deck toys, a Trail Blazer hoodie, Twister and a set that turns any table into a ping-pong table. It’s very fun. 

I’ve made most of my mothering mistakes on my oldest son.  I feel bad for that. He’s a great kid though, despite my being his mother.  He is smart, and he is athletic.  He’s handsome.  He’s a fast learner.  He’s friendly, but quiet (unless he’s playing video games).  He’s competitive, and driven. He’s determined.  And he’s growing up.  Quickly.

I sure love this kid.