shy spidey

green holiday

First, cookie fun at Henry's house.

Then balloons on the hammock with Dad.

boy, firefighter.

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The first time I've picked up a paintbrush in a long long time.

'bout cake?

Lincoln helped make his father a birthday card or two early this morning. He stockpiled leftover trimmings to throw around like confetti while I cut out construction paper letters for a banner. "I have fun!" he said again and again, "I have fun." He even broke out an altered version of the happy birthday song once or twice while we worked.

I tried to explain to him that even though today is the actual anniversary of John's birth, we aren't having a party until tomorrow. I'm not sure if he understands the concept of 'tomorrow'. I think he does. I know he understands the concept of 'not right this second' and 'not anytime soon' because he is very good at letting me know in no uncertain terms that this sort of delayed gratification is never okay with him. But if the days of the week or time's measured passage mean something to this little person, he doesn't fully reveal it. Lately he's been focusing on the concept of 'morning' (to him: any part of the day that isn't dark) which he uses to formulate a very precise argument for not being or staying asleep. "No night night," he says, "it's moooorning!" This particular morning, I tell him that the party won't be until tomorrow. Another morning, I say. You'll go to sleep tonight and then when you wake up we'll have a party. "O-tay," he says. And then: "Bout cake?" I tell him we aren't going to make cake today, it will get stale. We'll make it tomorrow morning. "I help make cake," he replies. Ok, I say. "I help make cake, " he repeats. "I help make cake." Ok, that will be nice, I say. He immediately gets down to get his step stool and starts pulling items out of a kitchen drawer. No, no, I say, not today. Tomorrow! We'll make a cake tomorrow. It is now very clear to me that I might as well be saying we'll make a cake six years ago or we'll make a cake in 2042. His toddler brain has instantaneously reduced the notion of 'tomorrow' to its basic component--"not now"--and he responds by crinkling his face into a little pumpkin frown. The tears well up. The wailing begins. It is clearly Dad's birthday right now, right in this moment that we are living in, and Mama has refused to make a cake. I feel cruel. I really do.

Luckily John rises earlier than expected and Linc's face immediately lights up. He throws confetti and sings happy birthday and laughs and smiles at the man who is clearly the best father he could ever imagine.... and forgets all about tomorrow, for now.

2 years old

His two year old self, a few months overdue here.