Oh well, presents and playing and this year there was pin-the-nose-on-the-snowman which Shayla had made (she's a teacher and is crafty like that) too. No pony rides, no jumpy things, no "theme". Just folks who love Waylon and some kid-friendly food and that is that.
(The hotdogs were delicious, by the way.)
Owen and Gibson both wore Superman shirts. So did Jason, come to think of it.
Here's Jason and his look-alike boy.
Gibson is talking so much. He can say any word that you throw at him and he has long and intense conversations with you and they include arm and hand gestures and many facial expressions wherein he uses his manly eyebrows to full advantage. He learned to say "Hank" today and I should have gotten a video. He growls it. Muddy Waters would be proud. "Hank!" he rolls around in the gravel of his throat. And then he laughs and we all laugh and he is shy for a moment but then he says it again.
Owen had a hard time with the fact that Waylon was getting the toy that he wants so badly. He was desperate for Waylon to open it and grow tired of it (which he figured would take about two seconds or at least he prayed would only take two seconds) so that he could play with it. It was terrible bad difficult for him but he managed not to melt down and Maw-Maw told me I should just go get Owen one too and I'm going to try and hold out until Christmas to give one to him but it's not going to be easy. Here he is, playing with it while Waylon was on the playground.
"It's beautiful," he sighed.
Waylon liked it too. A lot. Don't ask me what it is. A helicopter which turns into a dinosaur and it shoots things and makes noises. Something like that. A young man's dream. Beautiful.
Here's Waylon, blowing out his candles.
He'd told his mama and his daddy that he didn't want any singing so we didn't sing. We just said, "Happy Birthday, Waylon!" and that was plenty. He did a good job of blowing those candles out and when we left, he GAVE ME A KISS AND LET ME HUG HIM!
I was so happy that I probably hugged him way too hard. I couldn't help it. I love that boy and it's so nice that he doesn't scream and run every time he sees me. He is like no one else. He is Waylon. And he is precious. When Hank told him good-bye, he rubbed Hank's head and kissed him and hugged him tight. He always has loved his Uncle Hank and he probably always will.
So that was the party and when I got home I picked up a few fallen branches and completed my entire goal for the weekend which was to clean out and organize the two junk drawers in the kitchen.
Boy, do we have a lot of batteries.
And now Mr. Moon is home and has unpacked and we're about to have a martini. The chicken pot pie is in the oven, heating up and loaves of bread are rising and about ready to join the pot pie in the oven.
Let me tell you something- I am fifty-nine years old and a day like today is as perfect a day as I could want. A four-year-old's birthday party at a beautiful park in the woods, hanging out with people I love, doing a few chores around the house, and my sweet, good man getting home safe and sound.
Throw in the fact that I've started listening to T. Coraghessan Boyle's new book on CD (San Miguel, A Novel) and well, a girl can't ask for much more.
I never would have imagined the sweetness. But here I am and there you are and it's like honey.