A friend of mine who is a Lutheran minister posted on her Facebook status that she was getting baptized into the LDS church on Sunday.  It was, of course, a Fool’s day joke but at 9:00 in the morning she had shocked many of her friends.  I was fooled too, for moment. 

Then when I reazlied what day it was I wanted in on the action.

So I told my FB network that Richard’s job was taking us on an international rotation to New Zealand.  I thought my plan was genius.  All my friends would weep and profess their heartbreak over my news.  My “wall” would be littered with sorrowful good-byes.

I’m pathetic.  I know.

My plan backfired.  People were excited for me.  Can you believe that?

Around 10:30 a couple of my friends caught on and called me out. 

So I deleted their comments, not wanting the game to end. Still holding out for someone to say they would miss me.

By noon my gig was up.  People were realizing what day it was and I was exposed. 

Inevitably I started to feel guilty.  Now I had disappointed all these people who thought I was actually going to do something exciting in my life.

April Fool’s day is not conducive to personalities like mine. 

From now on I will stick to celebrating my oldest child’s birthday on the first of April. 

**Speaking of which, the party was a huge success.  Thanks for all the tips.

You are a sweet boy. You are a conversationalist. You are engaging. You are a little bit bossy but you can be a great helper. You are sensitive. You have a great memory. You are great at coloring in the lines. You are social.

You love attention.

Sometimes your little heart is so full of love and excitement it seems to shoot out your eyes and smile like sunbeams.

When I asked you what you wanted for dinner on your birthday you said “exparagus” and chicken. It reminded me of your birthday when you turned three and I tried to make you chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. You didn’t want them, you just wanted your regular oatmeal.

You are a creature of habit, just like your dad. You love routines because you always want to be ready for what’s next.

We love you buddy!

**Thank you to a thoughtful nursery teacher for the balloons. 

I have never blogged as if I were speaking to my child.  I see that on blogs quite a bit, but I didn’t think it was my style.  But for the sake of variety I’ll give it a go. 

To ELI:  On your third birthday

Your dad and I noticed the other day how sensitive your senses are to the world around you. 

Your big brown eyes are so sensitive to the bright sun.  You wear your sunglasses all the time.

Your often cover your little ears to protect them from loud noises, and you especially hate when the wind blows and makes your eardrum quiver. 

Your adorable little nose does not spare you from the farm-ish smells of Kuna and you don’t spare us from your complaints about it.

Your small hands love the sensation of bubbly soap and warm water and you would wash and wash them forever.

Your refined palate has zero tolerance for tastes and textures it does not approve of, resulting in your stubborn refusal to swallow these foods until they drip out of your mouth or you spit them into a napkin. 

These are the things we remember when we look back on this last year of your life.  We love these things about you.

We love you Eli Pie.

Several years ago Richard and I decided (and by that I mean I decided and Richard shrugged his shoulders as if to say “Sure. Whatever.”) that we would allow our children to have an organized birthday party (where they could invite friends and I would entertain them) twice, at ages five and eight. 

That sentence was a grammatical nightmare. But I’m too lazy to go back and fix it.  I wouldn’t know how.

Next week Cameron turns five.  He has requested a dinosaur birthday party.  I have one week so today I consulted my best source, the web.  Much… too… overwhelming.  I had no idea the extent to which some people go for birthday parties.  I have neither the time, ambition or the funds to expend such energies.  Internet, you failed me.

So I think we’ll just stick with musical chairs, dropping clothespins in glass jars and maybe pin the tail on the T-Rex.  I might actually buy a dinosaur cake because the idea of trying to make one causes me to hyperventilate.

One more thing.  I decided that I would request that the preschool age guests not bring gifts.  Is that tacky/offensive/totally bizarre?  I just can’t stand the idea of more toys around this place.  And I feel bad asking other children’s parents to spend money on him in these “tough economic times”. I told Cameron that his friends wouldn’t be bringing gifts and, well, if you know anything about Cameron you know what happened. 

Tears. Whining.  Banging of limbs against nearby objects. 

It was all enough to indicate that gifts are the last thing the child needs. But never fear mothers and fathers whose hearts are breaking for the poor child.  He will get gifts.

There is a swingset being secretly stored in a friends backyard with his name (and Eli’s) all over it.

In the book The Secret Life of Bees there is a character named May who I can identify with in small part.  She had a problem of taking ownership of others problems.  Any time May heard about tragic events in the world she would launch into deep dispair. 

May’s coping mechanism was a stone wall she built.  She would write down the stories she heard on slips of paper, deposit them into the stone wall, and weep until she could let go of her grief.

Recently I have heard sad stories from the lives of people around me. I have felt anguish and sorrow on their behalf.  I told Richard I needed a wall like May’s.  A place to let go of all the problems I observe that I am not capable of solving. 

But he pointed out that it didn’t really work for May. 

I have quoted it before and will likely quote it again, because the Serenity Prayer is my default wisdom for times like this.

“GOD, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference…

Taking, as He did, this…world as it is, not as I would have it…”

Person 4 made an art project out of the return envelope on our census questionnaire.  It ought to give the government some insight into the occupants residing at this address.  When Person 1 showed it to me I responded:

“They will understand once they open it and review the enclosed data.”

**I think instead of coming up with clever names or using just the first letter of the names of my family members for privacy, I’ll just refer to them as Persons 1-5, after the manner of the census commission, in ascending age order.  Much simpler.