Tweenage Dream

Eat your heart out, Bieber.

I'm feeling kind of old today.

Ben turns 12 in a couple of days.

TWELVE.

He informed me that he didn't want any toys for his birthday. His list consisted of "designer clothes," a suit, and a razor.

And sadly, he actually has enough facial hair that the razor would be useful. His mustache is nearly as thick as mine.




Also? He has a date for the Spring dance at school. I mean, not a date date, but a girl from drama club asked him to go and they're meeting there and will presumably dance together a few times. You know, the awkward, arms straight out, woodenly rocking back and forth dancing. I'll be sure to take a picture so that someday when he's famous and finishing up his first rehab stint, Us Weekly can run it in an article about his very first co-star romance.

I'm not ready to have a kid in the shaving/going to dances/requiring deodorant stage of life.

Mainly because in my head, I'm still approximately only 17.