Yesterday was my husband's 48th birthday. We weren't going to celebrate, as we plan to have some friends over this-coming weekend for sushi and sword study. But any possibility of not marking the day flew out the window when I told our son it was Daddy's birthday. Having crawled into bed with me so that I could eke out a few more minutes of sleep, our 4-year-old proceeded to plan the big event. I, in a semi-conscious state, agreed to everything.
First, we would get some presents. Then we would bake the cake -- devil's food cupcakes. Next we would go to the grocery store to pick up the missing ingredients for the cream cheese frosting and some milk, since we were out of milk. Then we would wrap the presents: his Superman ring to protect Daddy during scary parts of movies, the book Treasure Island because it has one of Daddy's favorite pirates in it, and some smelly fish foods (sardines, kipper snacks, mackerel) that Daddy likes so much.
Throughout the day, my son would announce excitedly to one of his stuffed animals, "_____ (insert animal's name here), today is my Daddy's birthday." He even went upstairs to put on a clean shirt just before Daddy arrived home from school. For me, there was no better moment than seeing the look on both my guys' faces when my son yelled, "Surprise!" as Daddy walked through the front door.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment