ELEVEN!

harvest skye is eleven, y'all.
today.
i have an eleven year old.
today.
and ain't that some sh!t?
getting older, growing up, getting big.
it's all really happening, my ninjas.
today is the day,
all over again.
another 'nother berfday, already.
the best part?
cake!
the second best part?
road warrior road tripping,
to weak-sauce asscrackachussetts,
and a car full of family on the return journey.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
i'm reppin' shopping sprees,
crime sprees, (probably not really)
shooting sprees, (with my camera, be easy)
and those sugary candies, sprees.
it's a big fun friday berfday celebration, duders.
i'm even leavin' work early to hit the road
and pick up those little peoples.
a weekend of worthy family togetherness.
and cake!
we get it poppin' like bubble wrap, y'all.
there will probably even be panniecakes
for breakfast tomorrow.
more cake is better than not enough cake.
word up.
***********
kids.
i GOT they.
and the responsible adulthood that follows.
a few days ago i was playing dress-up,
as a grown-A* man.
today i'm organizing finances and travel plans.
awwwwwwwwww, man.
there may be a little kid in all of us, or whatever,
but when there are actual little kids around,
that inner childhood sh!t can F* right off.
just sayin'-
i'm not putting some barely-double-digit daughters
in charge of making any moves.
i'll be the one to eat the grown-up turd sandwiches,
and they'll get to prolong the magic, for now.
that's important, yo.
more magic equals more hottness,
and i'm almost positive THAT's a thing.
it takes a lot of victorious infinite nature nurturing
to fully ripen a miniature replacement
for us aging active participants.
we wouldn't want to run out, after all,
now would we?
*
eleven years ago,
at a little after 11 a.m.,
my firstborn little lovely lady
popped out of the baby cave.
she saw her shadow, and went back in.
stop it.
i'm kidding about that last part.
new babies, y'all, are pretty gross.
that's no joke.
little, helpless, pink, wet, naked mole rat creatures.
but then,
in what seems like all of a sudden,
before your eyelashes are even properly batted,
you've gone to eleven.
in a row.
time flies and days go by.
it's the minutes in-between that make it matter.
spanning time, mutha-'uckers,
tight and loose, over and over,
like a wrench;
never quiet, never soft.....