Bringing Cake

 

It’s his birthday, but he’s at the beach with his college buddies this week. I offered to show up with a cake. He was clear, “No, mom. Don’t come to the beach with a cake. Absolutely not.”

“I repeat: Mother. Do. Not. Bring. A. Cake.” 

I honored his wishes, but he doesn’t understand. 

He can’t understand that for all those years I was the one to bring the birthday cake and the ice cream and the balloons. For all those years I made the birthday magic happen.

Even though he is our 4th born. 

I mean, truly, by the time he joined the family, there were birthday celebrations where I thought … can’t we just include the older siblings and wrangle up a few stray neighborhood children and call it a party?

But no. We celebrated. Always. 

We made it as special as we could for as many years as he would allow. There was a pirate party, a trampoline park party, an out-to-the-movies themed party. Of course there was a race car party … or two. 

I think back to all of those parties multiplied by all of our kids and I feel like I could almost have put “party planning” on my resume. There were years where it felt like I just went from one birthday party to another. I’m so grateful I had the time to do it all.

Maybe some of the touches were more for me than they were for the birthday boy or girl. I mean does a 3 year old really care if her balloons are pale pink or hot fuschia? Did she really appreciate the fairy wings that required me to hunt down in at least a dozen dollar stores? 

No, probably not. 

But as this 4th born turns 20 today, I’m pretty sure even though he doesn’t want me to come anywhere near him with celebratory confections, he knows his mom did her best to bring the birthdays. 

He knows I loved doing it because I love him. 

At some point we stop planning things for our kids. Twenty seems a good age. I write that, but I kind of laugh, because if you know Connor, you know he’s been pretty independent for quite some time. It didn’t take a 20th birthday for this kid. 

Maybe it’s a 4th child thing. Maybe that’s why he’s been doing his own laundry since middle school. Maybe that’s why he can make a dinner reservation or a doctor’s appointment (or rent a beach house☺️) and not bat an eye. He grew up knowing his mom was always there, but also always a little busy planning other things—kids’ parties—too. He had to share me. Every day. He had to figure out how to take care of some of the stuff on his own. Sometimes that makes me a little bit sad and sometimes it makes me think maybe that was the best gift I could have given him. 

No, I won’t show up at the beach tonight with a cake and candles for Connor, but I will give thanks to the Lord for allowing me the chance to be his mom and celebrate him always.🎂

Happy birthday, Connor!