Happy Birthday, Nate

I know you were a little bummed out initially that you didn't get a "kid party" this year. Last year was your turn, and Sara gets one this year. With the two birthdays only five days apart, that's that best I can manage, kid. But you did get your absolute favorite supper: penne with shrimp and zucchini. Nate! Stay out of that!


You never want a homemade cake. It always has to be an ice cream cake from Baskin Robbins. With flowers. The candles don't match. I have four that are shaped like cars and two that are shaped like crayons.

This year, it was all about Star Wars. Dad gave you Star Wars Legos, including little action figures with...light sabers. Light sabers, Nate, not life savers. And I gave you Transformers that change from Han Solo and Chewbaca into the Millenium Falcon. You need to stop referring to Chewbaca as "Julie". He goes by "Chewie" for short, but if you call him "Julie", you'll piss him off.

You're six, now. That sounds old, all of a sudden. I was doing some more cleaning in the basement. I found the little suit you wore home from the hospital. I wonder what the pockets are supposed to be for - your wallet?

There was a calendar that hung over your changing table, too. I would make notes on it, like:

• Slept through the night!
• Nate has stomach flu.
• I have stomach flu.
• Removed all the cassettes from the cassette rack.
• Ate bananas!
• Ate sweet potatoes!
• Ate apple sauce!
• Ate soot (that was at the cabin, when we had the wood stove).

Happy birthday, Nate. I'm glad you don't eat soot any more.