To My Darling Boy on his 37th Birthday
Our morning will be busy. That much is true and little girls will fall over themselves to wish you a Happy Birthday. I’ll go to the store to make you a delicious dinner and dessert and apologize, again, for the lack of presents. You insist it’s fine and I know you feel that way, but you know that I love to give gifts and respecting that no gifts is someone better is hard for me.
I’ll make breakfast. An omelet. Filled with sausage and peppers and cheese. I’ll deliver your coffee. I’ll make a semi-lewd secretary joke. And you’ll laugh.
Sometimes we feel a little bit like ships passing in the night. The demands on our time is great sometimes. Children and work and the house and the dog. They all want a piece of us, but the best part of my day are the pieces of me I reserve for you.
The girls will probably make home made cards after school. The Princess’s will be neat. Littlebit’s will be filled with phonetic spellings and we’ll muse over how much she’s learning.
You said you always wanted to be 30 and married with kids. And you are. I know that things aren’t always easy or pretty. Sometimes things are weird and gross and dirty. Catching vomit is probably not what you imagined when you were hoping for this. Or scrubbing poop off of walls. Or discovering that Baby Bee is using the toilet paper on the roll for wiping (by which I mean, she leaves it there).
I’m thankful for every one of your 37 years. I am thankful for your generous soul. I’m thankful for the fact that you love me when I’m nuts and haven’t run away from home. I’m thankful for every time you’ve cleaned up vomit.
Happy Birthday, sweet heart.