It's a ridiculously beautiful morning and Maine, so Jared and I were both up early. He walked the dog, I made pancakes from scratch, James got himself dressed--it was all very idyllic. We were both scooted up close to Maggie's high chair, feeding her little pieces of pancake, snapping some pictures and taking turns singing verses of a made up song with an off the cuff melody.
I couldn't duplicate the song if the life of my ten-year-old dog depended on it, but for the sake of the story, I'm about to try.
Jared: Maggie has BIG BIG BIG blue eyes!
Me: Maggie's gonna ride a pony someday!
Jared: Maggie likes pancakes sooooo much!
Me: But if she tried it she'd like pudding way better!
Jared: Tomorrow is m'birthday!
Jared: I said tomorrow is m'birthday!
Me: Of course it's Daddy's birthday and we're so excited to do lots of the surprises we've been planning for weeks!
And that's when the singing morphed into talking. Jared flatly said, "You forgot my birthday."
And with all the exuberance in the world I was like, "No! Why would you say that?"
"Because you overcompensated on the last verse of that song."
Okay fine, Jared's birthday snuck up on me this year. But you know what? It's his fault, not mine. The man hates parties, hates cake, and strongly opposes most varieties of food. He doesn't even like presents--only accepts cash. It's to the point that when I buy him a card, he usually turns it over, glances at the price and says something like, "You should've added this four bucks to my cash. And now that you wrote in the card I can't even return it."
The man wants to see a bank envelope--nothing more, nothing less.
Maybe I'll use the money to whip up a sentimental scrapbook instead. I've still got time.
And for the Aunts and Uncles out there, here are the pictures from this morning: