I am greeted at the door by this shining face, seconds after my car is in park. His tone is matter-of-fact, but with a buzz of excitement sneaking right up behind it. Noah is so pumped about his birthday, it took two parents to get him to focus just long enough to get dressed and brush his teeth this morning. I actually can't confirm that he brushed his teeth. And he might have been wearing a pajama top with his jeans. But a clean one. 80% sure.
OK, Body, it's time to rally. Never mind that suffocating urge to crawl into bed, there are very important BIRTHDAY jobs to do. A favorite meal to prepare. Cupcakes to buy (Totally not going to bake today. Just. Can't.). Gifts to wrap. A room to decorate. You can do this.
Incidentally though, St. Paul, would it kill you to throw me a softball one of these weeks? I'm not asking much. Just a nice, big softball of a shift, with a hand written invitation on the seam to enjoy the quiet and inviting call room for several hours. Think about it. Get back to me.
Coffee's done brewing. Gotta go.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BOY!
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