Artificially Eight

On Baroy's eighth birthday, he announced to the assembled family, "I'm so happy because I'm finally artifically eight." And thus a never-to-be-lived-down moment was born.

Today, Em turned eight. My first born. She went to bed early last night, so that "time will go by faster, and then it'll be my birthday." She awoke this morning to a little naked brother holding a miniature red-rose bush, and me singing happy birthday. About ten minutes later, Baroy returned from his morning run, and we let her open the presents from family and friends who won't be at her birthday party (being held in a couple of weeks). Our present to her is going to be a guinea pig, just as soon as the lady from whom we were supposed to be adopting one gets back to me. (Or doesn't, at which point we go out and find one this weekend at a shelter, if possible.)

After presents, I made homemade waffles at her request, and then N and I set off to preschool and work, respectively, and she and Baroy headed out for a special birthday movie. Later on, we'll order in Thai food (again, her request), and we'll invite any neighborhood kids around for some ice cream or something like that so we can sing her happy birthday en masse.

I've been working on a freelance piece that I didn't quite finish by this morning's deadline, and all of my creative juices have been both tapped and sapped. Otherwise, I like to think, I'd be writing some kind of ode to my little girl and the many things that make her so very special. Instead, I will leave you with a scene from this morning. Em had just finished opening her gifts, with N (now dressed, thank goodness) watching. Then she scurried off into her room and returned with something behind her back.

"N, I knew that you might be feeling a little bit jealous of me getting to open all these presents today, and I know that this is something you like to play with when you're in my room, and I don't need it any more, so I figured this might help you not feel so jealous any more."

And, with a flourish, she presented him with her once-beloved-but-more-recently-neglected Ariel jewelry box, with the sparkly outside and the little twirling ballerina Ariel inside.

N took the book reverently from her hands. "This be mine now? Not yours?"

"Nope, it's all yours now, N," she replied, beaming. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, I do! I do, Emmy!" And he hugged her around her waist.

Happy birthday, my big, generous, not-one-bit-artificial girl. Happy eighth birthday.