The year I turned 41, the husband bought me a nice, little cake -- just enough for the five of us. The boys were not yet eating ridiculous amounts of food, as they would in the near future. I'm sure there was a present too, but I can't remember what that was.
The hubby brings the cake out and they all sing to me, joyously off tune. I blow out the lone candle, appreciative that no one tried to stuff the cake with an accurate count.
As we finish, my youngest, then six, climbs out of his seat, walks to me and gently pats my head. "I’m sorry no one came to your party,” he says, then turns and follows his brothers outside to play.
My kindergarten-aged son loved Packer Football, the cartoon Gargoyles and pestering his younger brother.
I don’t remember all the things his new kindergarten friend loved. But one day on a car ride over to our house, the friend told my son about a video his mom had just bought. “It’s called Care Bears. And they have all these great bears. They live in Care-A-Lot land. And there’s a bedtime bear. There’s a Funshine bear. And there’s a Tenderheart bear.”
My son must have been considering this deeply because it took him a long moment to respond. Finally, he asked, “Do they have any bad bears?”
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