The Real Birthday

The churning cogs in my son’s mind are clearly powered by his heart, it gets me every time.

Two more sleeps until his birthday, plans well underway for a bowling party with four super cool school friends that afternoon. Each day this week has been rung in with the announcement of the current countdown to B-day, this morning was no different except for it’s tag-along “huh?” moment. His eyes, inquisitive, look up at me… “Mom, when is my real birthday? Is it before or after?”
Huh?..Slightly confused at the question since I know he knows the party is on his actual birth date, I do a little research before I answer .. “Do you mean the time that you were born?”

“No, mom, my real birthday?!… when is it?”

Now I am officially lost, not that this is uncommon in any hour preceding 7 am (ok, let’s be honest, 10 am),… but again I ask “ like you mean the actual time?? You were born at 10:45 am.”

“Mom, I mean my real birthday, with the family. When is it?”

Warm fuzzy “aaaawwww” love washes over me with the dawning realization of the meaning behind this serious inquiry. His “real birthday”, a true celebration, what holds value above all else in his heart… time with family. While he’s excited about hanging out with good friends, his real birthday is a party surrounded by aunties, uncles, cousins, grandparents, all that can come … the more, the merrier… his new year can only truly begin with this.

You know, kid… I think you’re gonna make it just fine in the big world.

Bring on the Firsts

While there might be something to be said for the familiarity and comfort of “same” or “routine”, I relish the freshness of firsts! One might falsely assume that firsts die out with age. Our little creatures wipe their own noses for the first time, bake our favorite cookies for the first time, point out our private flaws in public for the first time… some firsts are not as particularly pride-inspiring as others… but as our offspring, due to obviously stellar parenting, ace Life Skills 101, what’s left?! Thankfully, the firsts that I continue to meet & greet regularly in my own daily on goings provide strong evidence that there is no need for me to mourn a dying out of firsts in my boys.  I simply dance in the new melody each new instance creates. Now I dance to G’s latest first, twirling to harmonious chords that weave color into the tune of “Happy Birthday”. My proud young man purposefully enters the small Woodridge Vintage corner store, a crisp ten dollar bill in hand, which only minutes ago had been safely tucked in the soft folds of a leather wallet in his closet at home… this leather wallet holding key members of the dirtbike fund.  His sparkling hazel eyes peek out from underneath a snow-glittered toque and look up to meet mine, eyes that see beyond himself, eyes that see an opportunity to let his heart speak. With a contagious joy, he bounds up the stairs to the gift shop above the convenience store, beckoning  me to follow. An excitement matched to his carries me up and as I reach the top of the steps the scene before me is that of an eager bright-eyed boy scouring the shelves, reviewing price tags, hands drawn to touch every pink item, on a hunt for the perfect treasure to present his mommy for her birthday. Settled with the decision that his mommy should select her favorite scent from the variety of candles on display, he pulls me into his childlike delight. Together we choose a small colored clay jar holding pale reeds to absorb a sweet scented oil. The fragrant aroma now caresses my senses as I pause to recall the glowing face of my oldest son as he hands the cashier his very own ten dollar bill, pulled from it’s duty in the dirtbike fund for a higher purpose. Arm around my growing boy, we walk out of the store as my melting heart leaves a trail behind us. Another first…  my boy spent his own money at the Woodridge corner store and did not leave with candy. *proud single tear