The Dinosaur is NINE, people.
Yesterday, I was cleaning the basement. Dino came down to see me. He was just goofing around and chattering; and then suddenly, a mood change swept over as his face crumpled. He came to me, sobbing, and said, “I’m… [gasp] going to miss… [snert] being… [gasp] EIGHT.”
I wasn’t sure how exactly to handle it. There’s nothing in the manual about aging lament in children. That’s usually something you have to deal with at a 30th birthday party when you’re holding your girlfriend’s hand and nodding sympathetically as she sobs, “I’m going to miss my twenties.”
You look deep into her leaky eyes and say, “If we were lesbians, I’d totally do you, honey. You’re so smokin’ hawt, you hoochiemama.”
Then buy her a shot of tequila (with lime and salt– lickitslamitsuckit), wahlah, problem solved.
At least until later when the munchies kick in and you’re trying to find her a 24 hour restaurant that has breakfast all day/night and she’s hanging out the car window yelling, “Pancakes! That’s all I want! Is that so WRONG?!” and offering strangers to trade her bra for a sports drink.
So while I’m totally hip on the tequila/pancakes solution, what was I to do with a sobbing newly-nine-year-old? Same thing I do at least once a day– improvise. I hugged him and tried to assure him that NINE was going to be so much more fun than EIGHT. NINE is hawsum, he’s going to looove NINE. He didn’t buy it. He had just lost his best friend, EIGHT, and he didn’t want NINE.
But my baby’s NINE. When did that happen?! Did anyone consult me? Did I miss a memo?
Two days before he was done cookin’
You make me happy… angry… ecstatic… suspicious… proud… frustrated… hopeful… sometimes all in one day. Sometimes all in one hour.
Dad blesses you every night with this verse and he always will… “The LORD bless you and keep you; The LORD make His face shine upon you, And be gracious to you; The LORD lift up His countenance upon you, And give you peace.”’ Numbers 6:24-26 (New King James Version)
Happy Birthday, you little honyock… someday I’ll tell you your whole birth story. It’s a good one.
I love you, boo.
[No Tequila Pancakes were administered to any or all of the children in this story.]