I would like to ask you to just try to explain to a group that includes an eight, seven, and four year old that you are not, in fact, going to really do anything for your one year old’s birthday. Call me un-fun but my plans were to pull out the birthday caterpillar candle and Asher’s old birthday crown (three cheers for names that begin with the same letter!), sing him Happy Birthday, and give him a small (perhaps previously used by three older siblings) present. Done.
My other children were horrified.
And thus my fourth child made out like a bandit in the gift department.
On his birthday morning, Omar and I heard the older three go into his room and sing to him, and I’m all weepy just thinking about how cute the whole thing was.
So Asa is now one. He is walking and jabbering and asserting all kinds of opinions. I’m loving his age right now. I’m loving how every morning he gets pulled out of bed by one or more siblings and then finds his way to me to just snuggle with me for about 10 minutes. I’ve never had one do that. I love it.
Happy Birthday, sweet Asa. You’re the best.
Somehow it’s been 7 years since Asher was born.
He’s an easy birthday kiddo. He requested pancakes, a watch, and Smashburger. Done, done, and done.
Lego are still his toy of choice, but now we just toss him the box and instructions. Before, I used to choose which set we’d get him based on number of pieces, because anything over a 100 or so used to make me hyperventilate. Now, if we each had the same set in front of us, he’d probably beat me to the finished product.
But that wouldn’t be good for our relationship because we both have a competitive streak a mile long, and sad to say, it’s not our best quality. Ha. I’m trying to tame the person inside that lets her 7 year old’s taunts during a game make her want to take him down.
I love this boy. He’s a lover of books and swimming and chess and make believe. And he’s just not that little anymore. Yesterday morning I realized that with the oldest two we are sort of past the “says funny things all the time” stage. I like to think that’s one reason we have one still in that stage and one waiting in the wings because really, who doesn’t love the insane stuff 2-5 year olds say? But then Asher gave me what I like to think of as a parting gift from that stage. Omar and I were talking about Asa and food. Omar casually asked me to help him remember when babies start eating finger foods. Asher quickly piped up with, “Finger foods? You mean like cream puffs?”
Yes, buddy. Like cream puffs. I love you.
On Wednesday my oldest turned seven. Elisha always has “big plans!!” for things, so I didn’t think I’d luck out with as easy a birthday as Lenna. He is also seven, not three, so I really didn’t think fruity cereal would thrill him the way it did his sister. But it didn’t take much more. The house was still in floor-refinishing mode, so I was at least hoping his big plans didn’t involve multi-colored tiered cakes or time consuming main dishes. And he didn’t disappoint. “Mama, can I have hot dogs, beans, chips, ice cream, and Oreos for my birthday?” he asked. And before boy #2 could yet again insert his influence making elaborate meal suggestions, I closed the deal with Elisha. Hot dogs were eaten and he was happy. He seemed quite grown up during his party. He loved his pirate ship kite, his light saber popsicle molds, his new bible, and I’m loving his new Perplexus.
Happy birthday, sweet boy.