Happy Birthday, John!

Four years ago this morning, I woke up with a baby in my arms.

John Matthew Clark was born at 1:17 a.m. on September 12, 2007. He weighed a robust 8 pounds, 3 ounces, and if I’m remembering correctly was 22 ½ inches long, although to me, measuring a baby for length seems a bit subjective.

The day before, I finally gave in and agreed to an induction on my doctor’s advice. My due date was supposed to have been the 1^st of September. It’s funny the little things you worry about when considering the day your child will be born.

I was reluctant to induce that day in particular because I did not want him to be born on 9/11. Dr. Early gave me the option of waiting until the next day to induce, but I feared that would result in me having a baby, not on September 12, but instead on the 13^th, which didn't seem like such a lucky day to me. So, as it turned out, we agreed to do the deal about 1 o’clock in the afternoon on the 11^th, which resulted in John being born about 12 hours later on the 12^th…sandwiched right in between 9/11 and Friday the 13^th.

So, today John is four, though his capacity to worry is sadly far beyond his years. Last night before bedtime, he told me shyly and sadly “Mom, I love you. I hope a great sickness does not sweep through our town.” I’ve known for a few months that John greatly fears that his parents (and his mother in particular) will die. He watched the Veggie Tales Story of St. Nicolas last week, and “a great sickness swept through Nicolas’s town” and his parents died. I can certainly relate to this fear, as I lived with this very real fear about half my life. It’s heart-wrenching to see John coping with this same fear. And I can’t lie to him; he’s too smart for that.

So, yesterday, while the rest of the world was commemorating the 10^th anniversary of 9/11, we were celebrating John’s 4^th birthday, just one day early.

I will freely and self-consciously admit that when it comes to my kids’ birthday parties, I have a weakness. I just can’t help myself. When I start planning, I always intend to keep them small, low-key, and requiring a minimum amount of effort from myself and those I con into helping me, but somehow, it never works out that way. (Thank you, M.A. I know that I have no business throwing a party without your help!)

It starts with selection of the theme so that the cake order can be placed with Lynda the cake lady. I tell Grandma Cleva what the theme is, my idea for the cake; she tells Lynda, and she brings it to life. And, it typically snowballs from there.

It amuses me to think over in my mind the theme of each birthday party, year-by-year. John’s first birthday party was rubber duckies, complete with a swimming pool full of little rubber duckies. He splashed in the pool with a rubber bib over his shirt because we had to keep the dressing on his Broviac catheter dry. I also made ducky-shaped mints and ducky-shaped chocolates.

Birthday #2 was an M&M theme, and the pool that held the duckies a year earlier became the site of a corn scramble…a great way to get rid of the parade candy acquired at the Corn Fest earlier that day.

Buzz & Woody took center stage when John turned three, and this year, for John’s fourth birthday party, it was all Thomas, all the way. I was lucky to find red, green, and blue gingham fabric on the $1.50/yard rack at Wal-Mart, which made the perfect Thomas tablecloths. I even made Thomas-themed pennant-flag banners. Patrick went crazy when he saw them for the first time. He was thrilled.

John got an insane amount of presents, including trucks and trains, books and clothes, and even a tiny little bicycle from Grandpa Dennis. And some age-inappropriate gifts from Uncle Ben, specifically, real live ammunition for the .22 that Ben got him before he was born.

The weather cooperated fully, and we roasted weenies at noon and feasted on homemade chocolate ice cream and cake. And the kids all played NICELY together and shared the loot fairly well.

We even had the honor of hosting a collection of students Matt’s cousin Jonathan brought home with him from Benedictine College in Atchison, Kansas. Some of them had also attended John’s 2^nd birthday party, too. I think there were four of them besides Jonathan, but I can’t be sure. If I’m remembering right, Jonathan brought home a total of nine friends from BC for the Corn Fest weekend, but some of them had left for home the night before. He seems to collect people, has followers perhaps. We were thrilled to have them, and they seemed to have a good time.

So, my children are admittedly spoiled when it comes to their birthday parties, and this is most evident by the fact that John & Patrick really don’t seem to think their birthday parties are that big a deal. After all, there is a “Happy Birthday” banner that has now officially hung in my kitchen for a full year. I never got around to taking it down after John’s 3^rd birthday party. So maybe it’s obvious to them that every day is somebody’s birthday.

I know my tendency to make a big deal of my kids’ birthdays was at least partially formed by our experience with John. At his diagnosis, I feared he wouldn’t see his first birthday, and every subsequent birthday is made that much sweeter as a result. John was a fabulous host yesterday, making sure his friends had their party favors and cups to drink their tea. He patiently (at my insistence) thanked each person for their gift before moving on to the next present. We are so very proud of him.

And, in case you’re wondering Patrick’s first birthday party featured a shamrock theme, inspired (duh) by St. Patrick and some old shamrock bedsheets I found at a yardsale to use for tablecloths. His second birthday party will feature Bob the Builder. It’s not till February, but you just can’t start planning these things too early, especially since tax season can get pretty hectic in February.

***I can't believe I forgot to mention it, so I'm adding it here. When John opened each present, he gasped and exclaimed, "I wuv it!" and "Just what I wanted!" (regardless of whether he had ever thought about wanting that particular item or not.) It was just too darn cute! 

Let Them Eat Cake!

We wish you many happy returns of the day.
May sunshine and gladness be given.
And may the Dear Father prepare you on earth
For a beautiful birthday in heaven.

Today, as we celebrated our baby’s first birthday on earth, Aunt Lucille celebrated her beautiful birth day in Heaven after 93 birthdays on earth.

Lucille Montague was my great-aunt. My mom’s aunt, my Grandpa Jim’s big sister. Though she was short in stature, she was long on grace. She was one of the most influential people in my mom’s life. My mom’s favorite aunt joined her in Heaven this morning. It seems so like Aunt Lucille to die on a Sunday. It just seems the ladylike thing to do.

There's cake in heaven, right? (just indulge me...you don't need to criticize my theology)

As I mentioned above, today was Patrick’s FIRST birthday party. I cooked a turkey. That’s right. A chicken last month, a turkey today. My culinary repertoire is vastly expanding. Fortunately, my family pitched in with hot rolls, noodles, mashed potatoes, and a shamrock birthday cake. And, of course, my specialty, homemade super-duper chocolate ice cream, made with a quart-and-a-half of heavy whipping cream, 9 egg yolks, and an insane amount of chocolate. (it was good)…John watched me crack the eggs. He said I was hatching them.

Patrick had a fabulous time experiencing his cake and ice cream. We had practiced Tuesday with an angelfood cake topped with fluffy meringue frosting and conversation hearts, so he knew he had to pace himself, less he re-experience the sugar shakes. But I think he experienced his first brainfreeze, nonetheless. Our little daredevil missed out on blowing out his candle, though. He grabbed the flame and extinguished it before we could show him how to blow it out. We weren’t brave enough to re-light it after that.

He thoroughly enjoyed the day, and loved all his new toys, but he especially loved the birthday cards. He gets such a kick out of getting something new that is “just his” but, of course, that doesn’t last, since John is anxious for P. Dub to “share” with him. (translation: John takes all the toys, using the excuse “No, P. Dub, you’re too little. You might choke on it.) He would say that about a basketball.

I had mentioned to a client a couple weeks ago that Patrick would soon be one. She had asked me if my baby turning one made me sad. Truthfully, it did not, and still doesn’t really, even now that I’ve pondered the question a week or two. But I know it’s supposed to make me sad. You know, childhood is fleeting and so on and so forth. Is it that I haven’t taken time to think about it? No, it’s not, at least not now, because I’ve thought about it a lot since that person asked me that particular question. I think it’s a combination of a few other factors:

(1)   Though I desperately love my boys, I severely dislike the chores of motherhood. I try not to completely snap at a request to drop everything and fill a sippy cup. I have a love-hate relationship with breastfeeding (which incidentally, brings me back to Aunt Lucille, whom I remember telling me how much she “enjoyed nursing her babies.”) I have weaned Patrick, but that’s the subject of another post. Strangely enough, though, dirty diapers don’t really bother me. Probably because, given my boys’ steady dependence on MiraLax, dirty diapers are cause for a party in and of themselves. Every birthday gets my boys closer to my reward of seeing them enter adulthood as responsible, faithful, thoughtful young men. Young men, who (in this particular fantasy of mine) still say “Mom, you’re the best ever. You’re the best ever mommy.”

(2)  When John was diagnosed with cancer, I feared we would not see him celebrate his first birthday. He has celebrated not one, but three fabulous birthdays since his diagnosis. Though Patrick has never suffered a life-threatening illness, facing this with my firstborn perhaps makes me a little more aware just how much every birthday is a gift. A marker of the passage of time to be celebrated, not lamented.

(3)  Patrick will almost certainly not be our last child. Maybe it would be more bittersweet if I knew Patrick would be our last baby. I doubt it. Unless perhaps in this hypothetical situation he slept all night long consistently…

 I read once in a magazine that parents should not make a big deal out of children’s birthdays. I cannot fathom the logic involved in this advice. I enjoy reciting in my head the role call of “Lynda cakes” my boys have had: a rubber ducky, a blue M&M, Buzz Lightyear & Woody, and now, as of today, a shamrock. Now, I’ll admit in my head, the party always goes a lot more smoothly, probably because all of the children are patiently seated around a table, wearing party hats and their unspoiled Sunday best, politely awaiting their share of cake and ice cream with no objections as to a perceived shortage of frosting, or corner vs. edge vs. middle piece, position of the cake on the plate, degree of pre-cut-upness of the cake, cake touching ice cream vs. cake on completely separate plate/bowl, or fork or spoon, or color of fork of spoon.

And then, when it’s time for the presents, all the children (including siblings of the birthday boy) quietly and attentively watch said birthday boy unwrap his presents and perhaps, much later, politely ask if they may have a turn with the new toy.

And the birthday boy himself? Well, he quickly and methodically (but also patiently and reverently) opens each present, but only after opening the card and thanking the giver before opening the present, with which he is thoroughly and sincerely thrilled.

That’s why I plan every detail…just on the off chance that it might one day go how I planned.

I think that’s a good place to quit for the night.