Twelve years ago today, much to the horror of his sisters, we welcomed The Golden Boy into the world.
The words “It’s a boy!” were not uttered by the doctor, a nurse, or even my own husband; but by my SISTER who had cleverly sneaked into the O.R. smoother than warm brie on a piece of French bread.
We spent the first few years of his life convincing his sisters that painting his toenails and fingernails while he was sleeping just wasn’t done. When they tried to sneak him into daycare with makeup and a handkerchief on his head, his father said “Enough is enough!”
The next five years or so we spent searching for the hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches and various tools he would use to dismantle anything and everything he could get his hands on. However, adding three plastic containers full of oil to the green, plastic John Deere tractor in the driveway was a brilliant move on his part. I didn’t know that steam could actually come out of Tightwad’s ears.
I still remember fondly Bitchy’s loud screams as she would spy The Boy running through the sprinkler in the backyard wearing her two-piece bathing suit. If I remember correctly, this was a weekly occurrence.
And so, it was with great satisfaction that she informed us that the poop we had been cleaning up in the yard somewhat TOO frequently (thinking it belonged to the dogs) was in fact his.
Today, Golden Boy, I celebrate the joy you’ve brought into our lives.
And when I gaze into your eyes as you share your stories about the day, I catch my breath. For not only do I see a glimpse of the young man that you are becoming, I can also see my father’s kind and gentle ways mirrored in your soul.
And I smile.
