Shep, if I could freeze you at this age, I would definitely ponder it.
You are in the sweetest of spaces. Most everything delights you. You’re considerate of others, and beginning to notice the injustices of the world. A week ago you came up with a list of the people you would like at your birthday party. Other than family, it simply included three girls from preschool. When I asked you why, you said, “Everyone makes fun of these three girls, so they are they only ones I want to come.” Oy, my heart.
I’m beginning to see the inklings of rougher waters, but in between, you are one good kid.
Tom bought most of your presents this year. I’m beginning to suspect I had no genetic contribution, as you and your father are peas in a pod. Every present he bought was spot-on. I’ll have more photos of these things later, since now you’re on the road.
Why, you ask? Because on Monday you announced Tom was taking you to Chicago on your birthday.
We thought we could get away with a few inequities between siblings for one more year, but it seems we were wrong. Justice prevailed, and after preschool, Tom picked you up and you hit the road. You were having a fantastic time last I heard.
So here I sit, on the evening of your birthday, and you’re out on the town. I didn’t think that would happen so soon, being left behind on your big day. But it’s inevitable, so I suppose it’s good to get broken in early. It makes me smile to think of you, bouncing around the hotel room, in the middle of a big city, barely containing your excitement and happiness. A mother can’t ask for much more than that.
Happy birthday.