Well, if your name is Everett, an especially happy birthday to you! We tried to call you while ago, but you weren't home. Daddy and I decided that was a good thing. Daddy's off to bed pretty soon, so I guess we'll just wait and call tomorrow. Your card may get there tomorrow, too--at least I mailed it on your birthday!
My firstborn, or as Lois Lauranne says, "My starter child", is 36 years old today! This is hard to believe. I know he's been out on his own almost as long as he lived at home--maybe longer--with a few summers during college back at the house. His room is no longer his room--it's the computer room. Still, the stickers all over the door say "A boy once lived here." Actually, they say things like, "The Guard belongs", Wildcats, Hardee's is Smurf turf!, Support Sheriffs' Succession, 4-H Member...
There used to be even more reminders of this being his room, such as the posters all over the place, the official tack from Governor's Scholars...Now I have to look pretty hard to find anything (other than the stickers on the door) to find any evidence of his time here. Until I go to the basement, and see the trophies, books, toy soldiers, other wonderful evidence scattered around, even the special shirt that says something about having to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince charming! I guess somewhere a princess is wasting her time kissing frogs, because she hasn't found our boy yet!
It probably isn't very adult to call a 36-year-old man a boy, but that's the way we mamas are. We just refuse to accept the fact they've grown up. I guess I'm still waiting for him to ride his bike home from one of his "explores". Bubba, I love you. You're still my little boy.
Good night to all, and God bless. (And if you know Bubba, give him a holler.)