This weekend, my son turned 13. That was bizarro. It means he's only 3 years younger than Brad was when we started dating. It means that soon girls will think of him the way I thought (and still think) about his dad. That makes me throw up in my mouth. He's just a little boy; right? He still crawls in my lap and snuggles with me. He still wants to hang out with us and doesn't think it's queer to go on a date with his mom. He's not embarrassed by the notes I put in his lunch. A couple years ago he told me someone made fun of my note in his lunch, and I said, "Well, I'm sorry his mom doesn't love him as much as I love you." But I asked him if he was embarrassed, and I told him it would not hurt my feelings if he didn't want me to put notes in his lunch. He said, "No, Mom. I like your notes." But very soon, he's not gonna be a little boy anymore. He goes to high school next year. Surely, I can't put notes in his lunch then. A
my journey to enlightenment