There was as time, not so long ago, that all I wanted for my birthday was a grown up day or night away from my boys. This wasn’t the case this year. We planned something kid-friendly and I had an absolute blast. I know, I was shocked, too.
On the actual day of my birthday when faced with the choice of eating at a dinosaur-themed restaurant or someplace calm and quiet, I actually chose the dinosaur-themed one. I wasn’t held at gunpoint or anything like that. Maybe it was because my birthday marked the passage of time or maybe I had a little heat stroke as it was incredibly hot at Downtown Disney, but I was happy to see my boys’ faces light up as the meteors rained down and the dinosaurs roared.
The next day, as I watched my boys run ahead to catch up with Mad Dog at Universal Studios, I really got it. My time with my boys is short. I can either spend these fleeting years reading quietly or, step outside my comfort zone and ride a Transformers ride in which I actually kind of feared for my life (please, don’t tell anyone).
This is my time to really enjoy the art of mothering. I’ve put in all the exhausting, hard years. I’ve been the captain of the No Fun Police for longer than I can remember. This is my time to trust that they will behave in public (mostly), that they will be highly entertaining to converse with (always) and that they still actually want to hang out with me. I’m sure being close personal friends with Bumblebee helps.