Blessed Day
Patricia Darak
Today is my son’s sixth birthday, and that makes him so excited that he’s in continuous ‘happy dance’ mode.
His father’s gift to him? A new racing bicycle that he seems to have incorporated into his very being; in other words, he’s never away from it, except for baths and bedtime.
This morning, I was lucky enough to get a lengthy snuggle from the birthday boy. Just yesterday, he told me that when he turns six, he will be too old for snuggles; I am relieved, and purposely fail to remind him.
He requested pancakes for breakfast, and I happily complied. Before he could finish his food, his sisters had awoken and decided that they wanted pancakes, too. So, after a hearty meal, all three marched into the bathroom to clean the stickiness off of their faces and teeth.
Then, while my oldest daughter grabbed her hairbrush and started hunting down (and killing) a few ‘snarlies’ in her long locks, I gathered up combs and detangler spray and set to work on the two youngest children’s hair.
My son was first; after about thirty minutes of his whining, I started on my mission. Knot after knot of dead hair came loose and fell to the floor, thinning his mane considerably. As I finished each section of hair, I would loosely braid it and lay it over his shoulder. When I was done, my son and I had come to an agreement. Since he refused to take care of his hair, he reluctantly acknowledged that something had to be done to prevent another ‘snarlie’ session. So, he would allow me to braid his hair every day and take the braid out at bedtime. Of course, almost any compromise would have been acceptable in the midst of detangling; I was more than happy with the one I got.
After he was finished – we ended up pulling his waist-length hair back into one big braid – his little sister had to be chased down, tickled, and carried to the ‘the chair’ in order to tame her own wild mane. Sitting serenely, the Princess slowly shook her head, took a deep breath, and let me know that I could now begin. Gently, I combed out her small knots, stopping every couple of minutes to ask her if she was still being brave. She carefully nodded her tiny head, and I continued. Twenty minutes later, we were finished and ready to pick out wardrobe for the day.
The three children scattered into their separate bedrooms, and the fashion shows began. First, one daughter got dressed, and then the second one wanted to match her outfit. Then, the second one changed to match her older sister, who had also changed her outfit. Eventually, they both emerged from their bedrooms in completely different outfits and decided that they just wanted to match their hairstyles. But, as soon as I got one styled, the other changed her mind and decided to just wear her hair straight down.
Sigh.
Meanwhile, my son had been dressed, coiffed, and playing quietly by himself for nearly half an hour.
Now, after I had wrangled my little ones, we headed out to deliver lunch to their father; afterward, we, ourselves, headed out to lunch, our tummies rumbling. My son wanted to eat somewhere there was an indoor playground, and his sisters grudgingly agreed. Two hours of eating and playing went by quickly.
Before I knew it, darkness had fallen and my son still hadn’t picked out his birthday cake. So, we wrapped up the remains of our extended late lunch and headed to the supermarket. Shortly after arriving, we were pleasantly surprised to see my beautiful niece. She showered hugs upon the children, and she wished my son a happy birthday before she left.
Then, after closely inspecting all of the cakes (and assorted cupcakes, pies, and pastries) on display, he walked straight up to a beautiful rainbow-sprinkled one and declared that, “This is the one, Mom. This is my cake.”
A quick trip through the aisles for ice cream and dinner, and we were ready to go. But before we left the store, my son decided that he wanted to spend some of his birthday money (conveniently in shiny quarters) in the toy and candy machines in the front lobby. He pried open his little fist, closed tightly around his silver coins, and proceeded to spend two dollars on gumballs.
Sigh. Again.
Safely back home, I proceeded to make dinner and count down the minutes before my husband arrived home and we started the birthday celebration in earnest.
Sure enough, as soon as my husband walked in the door he exclaimed, “Happy birthday, Birthday Boy! Where’s the cake?” The cake was brought out, six candles were lit, and the birthday song was sung, all accompanied by my constantly-firing camera.
After cake and ice cream, my children and their father went outside to have nighttime races with flashlights; my son rode his new bike, of course, and the others raced (on foot) against him. Even our cat ran alongside them. Every time, our long-legged oldest daughter won. Everyone, especially the birthday boy had a great time.
After, they all came inside and tried to settle down for bedtime; it took at least an hour, several stories, and snuggles to lull them to sleep. But, at last slumber arrived, and sweet dreams of the day began to replay in their little heads.
My baby boy is six, and I can’t believe how soon ‘six’ arrived. He’s a tall, bright, articulate young man, and all I see when I watch him sleep is the snugly-wrapped bundle that I got to hold for the first time six years ago. My heart misses his tiny fist clutching my thumb. And my heart looks forward to seeing what comes next.
Sigh.
