Just the other day, CJ got so mad at me. I can't remember what for, but I have a feeling I did something super irritating like not letting him watch 5 straight hours of the Batman movie I inappropriately and mistakenly bought for him in an attempt to be a cool, fun mom. For the first time in his life, he screamed that he didn't love me, stomped up the stairs and slammed his door. I'm not exactly sure when exactly he turned in to a 13-year-old girl, but I do know that my feelings were hurt ALMOST as much as the day in the mall bathroom stall when he loudly asked why mamas have such big booties, and then kindly suggested that maybe mine was so big because the Hulk stepped on and smooshed it. I'm almost positive that there were other people in the bathroom with us. And they were most likely skinny.
And as I sit here typing this, the boys just brought me a "birthday cake" made of a pile of plastic toys in a bucket. I just opened my gift of a silly band wrapped in a post-it note. They sang and cheered and I exclaimed how excited I was to have such thoughtful boys. And THEN CJ clapped and announced, "yayyyy, Mama. Now you're 67 today!!"
So I can't always count on them to pick up their toys when it's bedtime, to wash their hands after they use the bathroom, or to eat their dinner, but there is one thing I CAN always count on. Brutal honesty. And you better believe that I'm headed to the gym now. And then on to make an appointment for some Botox.