Thing 2 is having a birthday tomorrow.
He will be 13.
10 years ago we threw him a bash at the local McDonald's, at which he got to sit in the 'big chair' and drink soda.
10 years from now he will undoubtedly be celebrating with friends, sitting on some strange grungy sofa, and drinking things I care to not think about.
It's a weird time for him, I think. He's at the tipping point between childhood and adulthood, could probably kick major ass in a fight if need be, is 3 inches taller than me, and can palm a basketball, but he's still my baby. My sweet child, who was calm and observant from the moment he was born, who cut teeth at 4 months because he was too impatient for baby food, who crawled until he was sure he was steady enough to stand, who loved fire trucks and dinosaurs and his big brother, who would at 5 years old bound up the basement steps yelling "mom-ee-hee-hee!" when I got home from work, who has amassed a vocabulary that would make William Safire proud, who is now a trombonist, a scholar, a wit, a martial arts dude, and now an enthusiastic trampolinist.....my baby.
My towering, deep-voiced, slightly hairy, clear-eyed, intuitive, smartass child. Try as you might, there's none better.
Unless you have one of your own, and then you know what I'm talking about.
Happy birthday, Thing 2. May your teen years be deeply rewarding and may you grow in knowledge, patience, and joy each and every year from now until forever.