Laser Mom

Today, my son had what was probably his last all-class birthday party, because next year he starts middle school, and the concept of a single classroom dominating his life will become a thing of the past.

Although we invited the entire class, only the boys showed up. This is typical of the last couple of years. When he was younger, girls came, too. (The one girl who did come is someone he's been buddies with for most of his life--her family moved to New England from Lubbock a year or so after us.) I imagine there will come a time in the not-too-distant future when girls will start showing up again, and Jim and I will be politely asked to make ourselves scarce. But for now, it was tweener-boy-city.

Being that it was laser tag, the boys are very much into shooting the birthday boy's mom. Jim played, too, but I'm the more aggressive player, so I'm the bigger target. I must admit, I love, love, love laser tag. It's like being inside a video game, although people seem to laugh more. (If you've never played--it's pretty simple: you wear a sensor-studded vest and aim a harmless beam of light at other players' sensors. If you're hit--which is frequent--you're "out" for five seconds, then you begin again. Unlike, say, paintball, it's completely painless, though still good exercise.) If I were one of those $25-million- mansion mogul types, I'd have the builder add a laser-tag arena of my own. Imagine a bunch of 40 year olds stalking each other in a maze between rounds of ice tea and popcorn. (You were hoping for martinis, maybe? I'm not much of a drinker, to tell the truth.)

But while part of me was mulling over the fact that this was probably The Boy's last "invite everyone" party, another part was celebrating. Not because my son is growing into smart, kind, handsome young man that anyone would be proud of--though that's certainly worth celebrating. No, I was celebrating because I took first place in one of our two 20-minute rounds of tag. First out of 34 players (people other than our party joined in). And this from a woman for whom the words "athletic ability" are an oxymoron.

Woohoo! Moms rule!