Scary stories from a lovely place
Three. Three equals conversation, words, interaction, making up songs, compliments, growing politeness and fake burps at dinner time. Three is the number of years I have enjoyed cuddles with my firstborn. Three is the amount of hours I can stand to be away from him. Three means how many years I have served food, wiped a cute tooshie, woken up to in the middle of the night, kissed salty tears, laughed with, been frustrated by and marvelled at Silas, my special big boy.
We celebrated this grand event by doing whatever Silas wanted today. It started with an early morning Skype conversation with his Irish grandparents. With them we sang happy birthday and blew out candles on a dinosaur and chocolate themed cake. We shared chocolate milkshakes at a play café where Stephen was the only adult male and I sat and read The Monthly magazine while my children had toy bikes stolen from their clutches. I cooked three huge saucepans full of popcorn on demand and we watched Finding Nemo. Silas grated a carrot for ages. Then he helped me saw branches from a newly pruned tree. We had pasta and cheese and red capsicum sauce for dinner. Silas went to sleep very quickly at bedtime while his younger brother sang Happy Birthday for about half an hour despite much shooshing from me.
Happy birthday my favourite oldest child.