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And pretty much anything that isn’t a wetsuit yet wants to constrict my thighs like it is.

Besides, these white, knee-high boots, I bought with Nae during our extended lunchbreak Christmas shopping adventure deserve to be immediately shown off.

Iearnedthese fucking things.

People think shopping forkidsorteensis hard.

Try shopping for mega rich, nerd husbands who canliterallybuy anything and everything whenever the mood strikes.

Fighting to find funding in my department at The Power and Bowell Institute to deliver small, holiday bonuses to employees that have been with us for over a year wasinfinitelyeasier than working with my best friend to buy her husband – aka my other best friend – a good gift.

It tookallof my extended lunch for us to find –separate but acceptable– picks.

Nae managed to discover a Highland based live action role playing company – through a series of backroom bookstore whispers – thatspecializesin custom creating the experiences from your favorite fictional worlds. The gift from herand her boysis a space battle for ourentirefamily – including her brother, his wife, their kids, and extended members like our security teams.

Definitely a “top-cheddar” gift as Jenni – who is now married to Evie – would say.

And as for my crew?

We leaned more into the Kirk style of shit.

Simply passable.

The girls are thankfully still at an age where making him shit is acceptable, so Brae learned to play a song from the movieStar Trekin the Kelvin timeline while Blake made him acustomtrivia game – in which I contributed the extra hard questions.

Wy got himanotherpair ofStar Trekthemed swim trunks.

And because Wes and I are married, he just gets credit for my awesomeness of ordering a custom, laser engraved, one of kind, lead free crystal, Next Gen decanter withUSS Enterprise (NCC-1701-D)on it and matching “Number One” whiskey glasses.

That particular specialty shop was right across from the shoe store that was having a flash sale.

Puppet Boy was second to last on the list of gifts needed unlike his best friend – my husband – whose custom, handmade Gotham city espresso machine for the penthouse I ordered inJuly.

The only person left on my list is our son, which is why this bonding trip with his dad doubled as a secret mission to get that info.

And it had to be secretly done since every time I flat out asked all I got was a shoulder shrug.

A. Fucking. Shoulder. Shrug.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?!

It’s not like I was asking him something insignificant like what was he in the mood for, for dinner.

This was kind of a big deal.

I sort of needed arealfucking answer.

Worfgivemestrength.

Teens are so fucking hard.

I miss when he was little and new ocean-themed bath toys or juice boxes made me the best mom of all time.

My arrival occurs just as the door opens to unfurl the stairs they need to descend. The instant I see Wy’s freckled covered face, I warmly greet, “Fins!”

Rather than speak in return, he merely flashes me the shaka – aka the hang loose sign – alongside a halfhearted smile on his way to the SUV.

Fuck. Me.

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