It's This Kid's 21st Birthday

A lot of you have been around, reading the old blog for over a decade, so this may come as a surprise that my Henry is 21 years old today! He tells me that he went out to lunch with his gorgeous Annika and had his first legal drink. He also brought home a bottle of gin so that we could make Negronis before we go out to dinner tonight to celebrate. Lest you think alcohol is all we're doing today, he also announced that he'll be heading to the nearest cannabis dispensary.

Just kidding.

WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?

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I've said it each year, and I'll say it again: Henry has been the light of my life since the moment the doctor pulled all ten pounds of him out of me. He is sweet and smart and beautiful, inside and out, and I love him.

Happy Birthday, Henry!

Hilton Hell and Heaven*

It's hard to know where to start when I haven't been on the old blog for over a week. The boys and I were on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. It was beautiful there, but hot. Oppressively so. I am not so good in the heat. I'm an admitted wimp when it comes to humidity, and I prefer the cold shock of the Pacific to the bathwater of the southern Atlantic. I also hate jellyfish, mosquitos, roaches and the fact that it never cools down, even at night. Did I mention that it was oppressively hot? On the positive side it's always a joy to see the nieces and nephews and my own children running around together, enjoying the beautiful ritual of this summer week that my incredibly generous parents have provided for so many years, and lord have mercy, but they're a bunch of beautiful children, inside and out.

We celebrated Henry's 18th birthday down there. I'm struck speechless that my first son is that old. He's the same preternaturally joyful kid he was on the day he was born. Gratitude for him and his presence on the earth over and over and over.

Cugini on Henry's birthday, only missing Sophie

Now I know you're dying to know whether we watched the Democratic National Convention all together, passing the popcorn and gently jostling one another, respectfully acknowledging our differing viewpoints yet exulting in the fabulous speeches and moving moments.

Um, no.

We're divided as a family, basically, into tribes, and the heads of one of the tribes are essentially the Bosses of the Land, so they determine pretty much everything, and we DON'T TALK AT ALL ABOUT THE DEMOCRATIC CONVENTION OR ABOUT DRUMPF OR CLINTON. I'll have to admit that it's the sanest way to operate, particularly in the oppressive heat of South Carolina. We did make conversation about what was for lunch or dinner or how hot it was or how beautiful the view was or how much we love one another despite not being able to converse about truly substantive things every four years or so. My sister and I resorted to watching the convention on a tiny television from the last millennium in her bedroom. I have no idea for whom the leaders of the other tribe are voting, but I know for sure who they're NOT voting for, and that's the first woman to receive the nomination. While it can be tense every now and then, I did make some sort of crack about how we were being denied our first amendment right to assemble peacefully and watch the dang thing in the living room and actually got a laugh from one of the chiefs of the other tribe.

Anyhoo, as they say.

I'd also like to mention the very large Drumpf sand castle that was built on the beach by a group of very white mid-westerners. Nor will I mention how members of our tribe got into it a bit and were called by the Drumpfers "liberal loons." In fact, they even etched a warning into the sand underneath the tower.

Yikes.

I'm proud to say that some of our tribe actually did knock down the tower later that evening -- or maybe it was just the tide?

I'll also mention that when the boys and I walked off the plane in Savannah, Georgia, we saw this ad, featured prominently in the waiting area:

The welcome ad displayed prominently at the Savannah airport

Hot blonde with great legs despite the camo and really cool boots, out for a little adventure with a killing machine thrown casually over her shoulder. I bet she feels safe as Hilton hell! And ready for some fun! I told the boys that we weren't in Kansas anymore (on second thought, things are probably pretty much the same as far as gun fun in Kansas) and that people are truly more afraid in these parts, even of one another, have strange and mysterious ideas about liberty and feel obliged to not only protect themselves but adventure with guns that have been manufactured solely to kill the maximum number of people as quickly as possible.

Did I mention how hot it was there? And relaxing?

I think that's enough for one day. I still have to tell you about the loggerhead turtles that we saw hatch and migrate to the sea one evening -- truly one of the most exciting and moving experiences of my 52 years on the planet.










*The levity of this post is in no way an entirely accurate representation of my thoughts regarding the election. While I tried to remain calm, cool and collected, I felt disgusted -- enormously so -- by the gun ad in the airport and the fact that middle schoolers would actually erect a sand tower to that man. Plus, I was hot.

Happy Birthday, Henry!

Henry, light of my life, you're 17 years old today!

From the moment you were born, you brought nothing but an infectious joy to the world. It's an honor to be your mama, and I'm proud of the young man you've become.

I love you.

Happy Sweet 16th Birthday Henry!

Henry is in Hilton Head with my parents and his cousins, so I called him this morning and asked him to send me a selfie in his new straw hat, the hat that all the lacrosse players wear. This is what he sent me:

I said, That's too beefcakey. Send me something close-up of your face.

I was going to ask him to take another one, this time of him smiling, but then I decided that would be bugging him, and I don't want to bug my sweet, now-16 year old first son, light of my life, most beautiful child in the universe.

Happy birthday, Henry!

Happy 15th Birthday, Henry!

July, 1999

It's hard to believe that that little munchkin has grown into -- truly -- one of the most beautiful young men in body and mind that anyone will ever meet, but it's true.

Henry is on the east coast with my parents, so for the first time in fifteen years, I don't get to give him a hug and a kiss on his birthday. Last night, though, I sent him a message at the exact moment he was born to us.

Happy Birthday to Henry

Light of my life, sweetest and now most handsome boy in the universe -- happy birthday, our Henry. Happy Birthday to you.

For other Henry birthday posts, see HERE and HERE.

Betcha didn't know that I can bowl

Neither did I, but I can.

I've always been an abysmal athlete and haven't bowled in years and years, but apparently, I've found my sport. I bowled three strikes and three spares and beat all the boys at Henry's birthday party, yesterday. But I also made a towering chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream and Henry still stole the show.

Teenager

Here's the sweetest boy in the universe.

Henry was born on July 25th, in one of the last years of the last century, and there hasn't been a day since that he has not touched my heart with his capacity for pure joy.

It was scary to get pregnant again, to contemplate what I didn't know, to have another baby and not worry was that a seizure is that normal is it starting, to hold him and Sophie simultaneously, like twins except that one was much larger and staying the same the other smaller and developing in miraculous ways before my eyes. I had thought I might be stunned by that development, stunned and saddened as he overtook his sister in every possible way, but I experienced the opposite and marveled at the simplicity of it, the simplicity and beauty of "normal" development, the effortless ability to swipe at something, to bend and crouch and fall down a step, stop and look back in surprise and try again, backwards. I thought him genius, of course, and admired Sophie all the more, her efforts double, triple, infinitely more difficult as they were stymied nearly continuously by seizures.

Henry came into the world screaming as all babies do who are fortunate to be strong enough to object, but his screams turned to smiles very early and there was nothing that didn't please him.

Henry, five WEEKS old

Henry did everything early -- smiled, sat up, rolled over, walked and talked -- and we used to joke that it was God's way of easing what might have been very anxious times. Either that or Henry was just eager, always, to get on with life.

Henry and his beloved cousin Mary with Pop Pop

He made his brother Oliver laugh for the very first time.

With Sophie, he shares the sweetest of all the relationships in our family. I really don't think I could do justice to the love between them with words only.

-- or the love and gratitude I feel for him. He's been the light of my life for thirteen years.

Happy Birthday, Henry. May you always be filled with joy!

Another birthday post for Henry is HERE.