Micah wrapped up his first year of life in style as we spread the celebration over the course of the whole day. I’ll hand him the keyboard so that you can hear the story from his perspective.
Well, excited about my birthday getting an early start, I let out a few cries around 5:30am. But unfortunately, my parents didn’t take the bait and so I decided it best to let them catch a few last winks. After all, I certainly didn’t want to have to deal with crabby parents on my birthday. And, I think the extra hour did them good, for at 6:30am when I stirred again, they both came in wearing some very strange cone-shaped party hats and singing this silly, extremely repetitious Happy Birthday song. I couldn’t help but laugh at those goof-balls peering down at me in my pack ‘n play. When they had finished their ridiculous song, we all went out into the main area of the house where I immediately saw my typical play spot covered with colorful balloons. Woohoo! I love balloons and so of course began waving my arms frantically to be put down among them.
After a few minutes of balloon fun, still in our PJs and party hats, we put on our shoes and headed out to let the chickens out of their houses. Along the path, we received a few comments and curious observers, but the chickens seemed oblivious to the specialness of this new day.
Returning home, we ate some breakfast and then immediately dove back into the balloons. Then, we all went down to my dad’s translation office where there is a big grain scale, on which I just about tipped 10 kilos (22 lbs).
Back at home again, I was measured for height, reaching the towering spot 29 inches up the wall! Look out NBA all-stars! All that fun made me tired and so I ended up hitting my morning nap time a bit early.
After lunch it was present time, which meant that there was lots of wrapping paper to play with! Apparently, my parents were more interested in what was inside the crinkly paper as they kept trying to turn my attention onto that.
The next hour passed playing with my new toys and balloons out on the back porch. After my afternoon nap, my dad informed me that all five of my chickens had each given me a birthday gift in accordance to what they do best. These, once scrambled, were then added into our dinner menu (you careful blog followers should have done a double take at the number of chickens I mentioned – only five, not six. Last week, OverEasy Barbeque, stopped laying eggs and got really lethargic. My dad and Larry tried to help her by giving her medicine and drinking water from a syringe, but on Friday, the day before my birthday, she gave in and joined all the dead mice/rats/bush babies in the animal cemetery which doubles as an outhouse. We didn’t eat her because we suspect that she had typhoid (which is a relative of salmonella) and the drugs she was being given are sulfur based which my dad said he can’t eat.)
Ok, so back to dinner. At about 5:00pm, my friends Emily, Jonas and Simon brought their parents over for a party, complete with two big plates of injera (traditional Ethiopian food), red punch and rumors of cake to follow – except, nobody ever told me the rumor. I ate my fill of injera, scrambled eggs and potatoes, not knowing the principle of pacing oneself in preparation for dessert. Stuffed as a tick, my mom cleaned off my hands, mouth and tray and set me with the other kids to play, only to snatch me up again five minutes later and plop me back in my high chair seat.
The next thing I knew everybody was singing that silly, repetitious song again as my mom placed a very strange thing in front of me. It was a brown ball, with a white “thing” on top of it and a bright light on top of that. I reached for the light only to have my mom grab my hand, a rather funny time to want to hold my hand. I never did get to touch that light for it disappeared when my mom got too close and breathed on it. The white thing was taken away leaving only the brown lump behind. Looking up at the others, they all just sat around the table staring at me. I wished they would turn away so that I could explore this curious new thing, but all seemed intent on watching. I thought to myself, what’s the worst punishment that could happen, after all it was my birthday and it was my mom who had carelessly placed this thing so nicely within my reach. Tuning out the stares from around the room, I explored the gooey surface with my fingers. Hmmm, not unlike mud in both color and texture, I decided to spread as much as I could onto both hands. After all, I was certain that my mom (aka. the ‘not in your mouth’ police) would try to stop me from tasting this new substance, so I figured that if I could get some of it on every finger, I would then have ten chances at snagging a taste.
Having meticulously prepared, I side-glanced at my mom. Waiting, waiting, boom! Emily, down at the other end of the table, asked a question which grabbed everyone’s attention and Carpe Diem, I seized the moment, much to my surprise without as much as a twitch from mom to stop me. As my fingers hit my mouth, my taste buds were set off like the grand finale of the Fourth of July! Hell-o, where have you been all my life? For this was the best-tasting mud I have ever put in my mouth! And my mom and dad, their smiling faces gave me the green light for full speed ahead. Hey, no holding back now. I turned my full attention to the brown lump as a whole and, forgetting all about the full meal I had just eaten, I set to work.
Now, my dad had warned me not to get my Brewer’s jersey messy, but such a warning was unnecessary once I had experienced the explosion of succulence which occurred in my mouth at each new bite. After all, I wasn’t about to waste one scrumptious morsel by letting it fall onto my lap. My hands and mouth were a different story. First of all, I, unlike all the grown partakers in this deliciousness, was not given any sort of instrument with which to cleanly transfer the cake from plate to mouth. This, of course, left me only with the God-given utensils that seem to become more and more useful these days. Plus, this route came with a second benefit. If I could smear this goodness all over my hands and face, then I could relive the taste later that night when in bed (a plan that my mom obviously did not appreciate as she twice brought out the washcloth after I had finished). And finish I did. I didn’t eat the paper in which the cupcake was served to me, but I got all the way down to it in all areas. Although I hadn’t been trained in the art of saving room for dessert, I quickly learned the complimentary life principle - “There is ALWAYS room for chocolate cake.” Do I hear any ‘Amen’s?
There's not ALWAYS room for cake. I'm sure Dad would back me up on one particular incident after MYSO on Dad's Birthday.
ReplyDeleteHappy Birthday Micah! I love the curls. We didn't cut Nathans hair until he was 19 months old and he screamed bloody murder at the barber shop.
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