Of course...

My camera is flipping out. I can take pictures, but not upload them to anything. 

Why should you care? You shouldn't, it's one of those things that will either be resolved, or not. Although if it was two weeks sooner, I could have asked those people who say,"what would you like for your birthday" for cash. I mean, cash is really an impersonal gift. If you don't know me well enough to know what I would like, then maybe you don't know me well enough to get me something. It's ok, REALLY. I would rather not get something than get something that makes me turn my head sideways and think," you saw this and thought of me?"

Although, those extreme gifts are rather humorous. But I mean, a token just so you can cross, "Get Susan Gift For Her Birthday" off of your To Do list? If someone just wants to get me a Cross This Off List Gift- cash will work.

Back to the camera issue, I should look for a picture that might entertain you. How about this one? He is turning seven. This means that I have succeeded in getting three children through the age of six without giving in to the question,"why don't we eat our young?"

Ew.

The cake is chocolate. The frosting is cream cheese. The M& Ms are plain, milk chocolate. The outfit was selected by the Birthday Lad that morning. He was trying to put together and outfit that was,"colorful, and fun, and matches this cool shark tooth necklace Kevin gave me."

 Now I have to describe the picture that I just took but can't get on here. Just because it made me want to drop my head to the keyboard and cry.

Luke is 13. He is looking older each and every day. This, naturally, makes me wonder what kind of man he will grow to be. I shudder with most of the images that flash in my mind. Surely, they outgrow this...age. I know they do. I have brothers. And a husband. And I shudder again.

No, not really.

So today, the 13 year-old fixes himself a snack. We had many leftovers from the Superbowl Table O'Snacks that I provided. He chooses: 3 slices of pizza, a handful of carrots, three chicken wings and a puddle of ranch dressing. Then he sees that we never finished the bottle of sparkling juice (the spiffy 7 year old likes to play mixologist with sparkling and other juices and fancy glasses. He really was born past his time.) So here is the picture:

Teen boy, scruffy hair, sleeveless white t-shirt( the kind called a,"wife beater" if you don't find that term offensive like I do.) Plate heaped high with gross greasy food ( and a handful of carrots!). With his free hand, he grabs a highball glass, opens the top of the juice bottle--that really is a wine bottle, and he pours himself a highball. I mean, juice. Then, he takes the bottle, puts it to his lips and swigs the rest that won't fit in his glass.

That's when I snap the picture. Shaggy teen wearing a tank top t-shirt, gross food, highball glass of 'wine' and drinking from the bottle.

My head hits to keyboard gtttttttttttttttttttdfs"enh vcewq- Basement dweller in my future?!!!