Chocolate boy

My son turned 11 on Monday. I'm still reeling over how this little man came along (on Labor Day, no less), and now I'm mystified to the 9th power about how he's gotten to be 11 years old.

I call him Chocolate Boy because he adores chocolate in every form - milk chocolate, dark chocolate, chocolate ice cream, brownies, fudge, and of course when I asked him what sort of birthday cake he wanted he looked at me quizzically and said "DUH mom. Chocolate," and practically shook his head at my stupidity. Sad old senile mother.

He loves Chuck Taylor Converse high-tops, levi's jeans, t-shirts, Superman, Mad Magazine, and glass Coca-Cola bottles. You could put him into an advertisement for a 1950's style drive-in diner and he'd fit right in. Yes, he has his issues (like the haircuts) but for the most part he's a smart, happy kid. I caught him prancing around his room looking at himself after a shower, very pleased with his overall fashion of the day, and he didn't even look sheepish when I peeked in. He said "mom, don't you think I'm cute? My hair looks like a field of wheat," and I nearly peed myself laughing.

He listens to Eddie Vedder, the Rolling Stones, and Michael Buble -- and he had a very early fling with Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody before moving on to AC/DC, and then took a brief detour into Elvis's early genre before falling for the classic Beatles, which made me very proud. We must have listened to Abbey Road a thousand times in the car, singing Maxwell's Silver Hammer so many times that I finally figured out all the words. It drove his older sister crazy.

He's small for his age, and his sister once called him a "melon-headed midget!" in a fit of anger. She loves her little brother even though she hates to show it, but no matter how mean she is to him he is always, even at the ripe age of 11, running after her for a hug. When he was about 8 she kicked his two front teeth OUT - he ran to me with blood all over his face and teeth hanging by bloody strings and screamed "manni hick my eeth out!!! ick my eet outh!!" When I blew up into a ball of flames and sent her to her room as punishment for the rest of the day, he pleaded with me to let her out because he swore "she didn't really mean to do it, mommy, please let my sissy out."

She still beats up on him, but the day will come when he's bigger than her.

Anyway, I made his chocolate cake and when I asked him how he wanted it decorated, he said he wanted it to be a cow cake. A cow? I thought. A little pre-schooley for a kid his age, but whatever. He likes cows. So I made the cake with white icing and then attempted to create dark spots like a cow on the cake (think Gateway PC boxes) but I have to say it looked like crap. He didn't seem to care -- he said, "it's OK, mom, don't worry, it looks really cool."

Happy birthday to my sweet, adorable, loving, beautiful boy.