As a summer kid, I always envied all those other kids whose moms would bring homemade cakes or cupcakes to school on their birthdays. We'd get to take a break from times tables or spelling tests and sing to the kid who was suddenly our class's closest thing to a celebrity.
Also, we'd have that weird world-collision of seeing that kid who was just a kid, just a friend or even not-friend -- with his or her MOM (I don't think a dad ever came; it was the 70s but still -- and also in the 70s "homemade" meant from a box mix rather than from the A&P. In the interests of full disclosure.)
Seeing a kid in class but with her -- or even weirder, since I didn't know many of the boys' moms -- his mom was jarring. Kids who seemed independent, big, even scary, were suddenly just little kids with their moms in the room. You'd see the mom smiling at the kid so lovingly and then look over at the kid she was glittering her eyes at -- that kid?! That's your BABY? Who you LOVE? Really?
It was odd and sweet and even if it was a little embarrassing to wear the classroom crown and have everybody see your MOM kiss you on your hair -- I wanted that. But there was no school on July 25. Ever.
So when my younger son was born July 28, I knew he was destined for the same awesome summertime celebrations, the glory of being a Leo -- and the lack-of-mom-in-school-on-birthday sadness.
Destiny's destiny is to be derailed.
I decided we'd celebrate half-birthdays in school. I started bringing half-cakes, with half paper plates and napkins cut in half, to school for him in nursery school. Now he's in seventh grade, though, where that will not fly.
But perhaps I will make a half-cake tonight for dinner and celebrate with the family. My guys are always up for a celebration. Especially if there is cake involved.
The other half of the day I will spend revising the book currently staring me down.
And hanging with the tortoise.
Maybe I'll call my mom, too.
What'll you do today?
Hope it's fun.