OK, so he's more like an impish dictator who orders me around, but for the purpose of a catchy title, I'll call him El Presidente. These days, the operative word of this now two-year-old is "MORE". More Atulfo mango. More dill pickle. More rehearsal cake. Rehearsal cake, you ask? Yes, this is me. Scared to death that the train cake will be a moistless (not a word according to blogger), inedible, and crumby mess. I watched two videos on frosting techniques today. Remind me to get a life.
Anyhoodle, this one's a rambler. I'm halfway into a 2007 bottle of Cab Franc and if you know me, you don't even have to ask from where. And boy oh boy they were right. 2007 really was a magnificent year. Wish I had the discipline to age some bottles in my wine cellar. Heh. That would be the closet.
It's 12 minutes past midnight and I've just finished hanging some hand-sewn streamers and the Japanese chiyogami birthday banner that took me countless hours to make. Not very flashy but warm and charming I'd say. The felt ball garland is on my to-do list and that should jazz it up some.
Thank goodness Ezra's birthday falls just before April 22nd. We can justify buying him a big ol' present, right? Acutally, here is the special gift we've selected: a model of my dream home. Adorable, yes? This will perhaps be the last non-essential shopping we do for the next year. So glad it's this, and not something mundane like oven mitts.
You still here? Yeah, so am I. Just sitting here quietly celebrating two years of momhood. Trying not to grow too misty eyed whilst reliving my 18 hours of labour and every single deliberate breath that pushed my son closer to this world. He belongs to it now, and every day I struggle just to leave him be. Leave him be. Leave him be. This is a kind of mantra. Leave him be. And he will become. What he will be. This is my hope.
Damn, here come the tears.
Happy birthday, sparrow. Love Mama.
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