My great-nephew turned one on Saturday, and Eldest Son turns 23 today. E.S. also moved (partway) out of the house on Friday. I say partway because the moving occurred all weekend, and he’s left a lot of his stuff here. He’s moving in with two other people while he finishes his teaching certification and B.Ed. and gets on with life. He’s lived on his own before, two years away at university, one of those in Residence and the other in a basement suite with (at first) strangers of multiple nationalities. But this is his first time living entirely on his own dime.
Attending my great-nephew’s first birthday so close to E.S.’s birthday, compiled with E.S. moving out, brought back a ton of memories. I’m in memory-mode, anyway, as one year ago yesterday, my husband and I began our trip to Peru. Every day for the next three weeks, I’ll be reliving that trip, thinking about what we were doing on such-and-such day.
Plus, thirty years ago (the same age my niece, the great-nephew’s mommy, is turning tomorrow), my husband and I had just returned from backpacking through Europe. We weren’t married then. We were traveling in sin.
But, today, my “baby” is 23. We’re having a family dinner and a Dairy Queen ice-cream cake.
The thing I love most about babies turning one is the face-plant they usually do in their cakes. My great-nephew had a huge party and received tons of presents. When E.S. was a baby, my husband and I were living a 3-hour drive away from our hometown. So E.S. had only one friend at his party, a baby girl named Meghan. It was a low-key affair, to be sure, but he didn’t suffer cake-wise. A week later we traveled back to our hometown and had another celebration—and another cake!
Happy birthday, E.S.!
Everyone say, “Awwwwwww.”