Last weekend, my son turned three.
To celebrate, we took the "buthday bway" on a little getaway. He spent his birthday weekend running on grassy lawns,
sipping orange juice and eating a pancake the size of a plate for brunch,
enjoying birthday cupcakes and fresh fruit on a beautiful deck with an amazing view,
splashing in the water,
helping build sand castles,
walking on the beach,
crashing out in the car on the way home,
and riding his shiny new red tricycle.
Little D is such a sweet "bway."
He sings songs often.
He eats with gusto.
He regales us with tales of Mr. Magical, who lives on the prairie.
He wants to do everything himself. (And if you accidentally do something for him, let the tantrum commence.)
He converses with his sister in their shared tongue, "Beemie language."
He climbs jungle gyms fearlessly.
He talks to our cat tenderly: "Maui, you're a sweet girl."
He requires me to kiss his favorite "snuggler" (Baby, pictured above in the carseat) before I go to work.
He is a laugh riot, a rabble-rouser, a patience tester.
He is my son, and I love him so.
Happy birthday, my darling D.