It's your thirty-fourth birthday, and as my first gift of the day I am letting you sleep for seven more minutes.
Thank me later, by running out and getting me a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese, while I navigate an mid morning bath with Moira and Maeve. Not our usual routine, but a birthday party later in the day (not for you) insists on cleanly children.
Instead of a day filled with birthday revelry, you will be sitting in a big warehouse somewhere in Philadelphia attempting to win a new kitchen table and perhaps a rug for our living room. Your father would probably have laughed and shook his head to see his son at an auction. But alas, that's where you'll be.
Racing home in early afternoon, you'll meet us and pile into the minivan to head to a Princess extravaganza. Not quite the romantic dinners of yesterday, but you will be with us, your three girls.
It's your birthday, my love! We're celebrating the way a young family does, with handmade cards, gingerly wrapped presents and lots of laughter.
While it might not be filled with the debauchery of our younger days, it is exactly the way I always had hoped, and I know you did too, in our home, with our children, and each other.
Happy Birthday to my favorite!
It's 9:00 am time to wake up.