The Hooligans' Mother

The last of 10 fourth grade boys just left my house, clutching a goody bag.  My son is in his room, creating a lego warhead, or whatever it is that pre-adolescent boys do in their rooms.  I have vacuumed  up the popcorn and reminded my (almost) 7 year old that his birthday is just 3 weeks away.  Chances are he will receive the components to build his own wmd's.  It is not fair now, but it will be fair soon.  Plus he got to eat a lot of candy.  He is minimally mollified.  The man who lives in my house (Isn't that better than husband?  "Husband" just sounds so mundane, although "wife" is worse.) has fixed me an adult beverage.  I do believe I earned it.