Oh, my friends. My boy has turned nine.

Well, actually, he turned nine back on Saturday, and I'm just now getting around to writing about it because I decided that we should switch around the kids' rooms so that he had his own room and the girls are now sharing a room, but the room I was moving him into was bright pink so I needed to paint, but first we needed to remove a bunch of shelves and patch and spackle and sand the spackle and then we had to primer and THEN and only then could we paint but then after the painting but before we could put the room back together I decided to hang up not one but two giant wallpaper murals and I have never done that before and OMG they turned out okay but I had to use a plumb bob among other things and I've discovered that this is one long sentence which is kind of like how my weekend was, when you get all that stuff crammed in there.

Whew.

I mean, we didn't just redo his room. No! The kids unanimously decided that we would go see Ponyo a few weeks back, and by stalling, I managed to turn this into a birthday outing.

Actually, we started the day with a few presents:

And then we asked the boy what he wanted to do for lunch:

He wanted a cheeseburger. Plain. And an entire thing of fries all to himself.

Then we went to see Ponyo. We all loved it. I have to say it was refreshing to see an animated mother who seemed "real" - and the story was just lovely. Go see it. Really really go.

After the movie, we stumbled out into the sunlight and directly into Powell's Sweet Shop - or as my kids have decided - Mecca.

We allowed a little indulgence.

And we paid for it in a Tsunami of Sugar Highs.

We were all too wiped to attempt cake that night.

The next day, the kids all headed out for a day of boogie boarding with my sister and mom, and we attacked the bedroom with paint rollers. That lasted a few minutes, until my evil twin reared her ugly head.

I'm just going to say this out into the universe - I am NOT the girl you want on your team for home improvement projects. I like to do it myself, and I put the I in DIY. In my case, it is DI- MY. I do not want your help. I do not want your help at all. Get away and stop talking to me when I am trying to paint. Do not breathe in the same room as me. You do it all wrong, and the sound of your paint roller on the wall makes me want to fly into a rage.

I clearly need help. BUT NOT OF THE PAINTING KIND OH MY HELL. Just... just... go buy me a sandwich. NOW.

I'll upload some photos of the finished room one of these days, when I get it the rest of the way done - I need to put up some functional shelving and get a few things moved in or out of the room, but he's sleeping in there, and it looks good and I'm not headed to divorce court (or jail.) Success.

We finally did cake. And yes, he's shirtless. It was his birthday weekend, we let him run around in a swimsuit, even for cake.

Tonight I curled up with my boy on his bed to read to him, and seeing his long skinny frame under the quilt with his fuzzy head tucked under my chin, I wondered how much longer he'll want to cuddle with me. For now, I'm just trying to soak in all the magic that radiates from his newly nine-year-old imagination - where dinosaurs are still the number one most awesomest thing in the universe, and he plans to spend all of his dinosaur hunting breaks (when he's not lecturing at some university or appearing on his Dinosaur Science Show) at home with me and the old man. He's also going to send us all his money. Note to self: do not count on this plan for retirement.

As I kissed him goodnight and slipped out of his room, he said - "Mom? I'm the luckiest boy in the whole world." I'm tucking that one into that special place in my heart where moments of grace live.

"I'm the luckiest mom." I said, and as I flipped off the light, I saw his smile crinkle his closed eyes.