Birthday Party

Pizzas for supper and frozen smartie and skor ice cream pizzas for cake. It is sunny and warm, so kickball is on. I am not a party gal though.

When I was, the birthday girl would never have thought of her Mom hanging out while she played Red Rover or devised a new version. Mom stayed in the kitchen while we had the fun.
I invariably spilled the koolaid. Mom would grumble that this happened every year as she wiped up the stickiness from the plastic table cover, which was only brought out for this occasion. Afterwhich, pieces of cake were peeked under to find the dime (or quarter as it progressed through the years).

The parties abruptly stopped at my sixteenth. I remember feeling neglectfully grownup. I wonder if Mom was relieved at the ending.

They are here; seven boys ready for a game of kickball. Yes, I've decided that they do not need the Mom supervising their play after all.

After all he is twelve, soon to be sixteen.