Today, 27 years ago, my dear son was born. I cannot believe that I have a son who is that age. I am not old enough! LOL!
Saturday he came home, brought his ‘girl’ with him, and we all had dinner. It is a tradition that the birthday celebrant gets to have what ever they want for dinner on their ‘special’ day. His choices? Spaghetti with crabs, chicken on the grill, tossed salad, and an Italian favorite, scrippelle soup. (They are thin french crepes, sprinkled with a bit of parmesan cheese, rolled up into a tube, put in a bowl and hot chicken broth is poured over them.) For his ‘cake’ I made rice krispie treats. It was a lovely evening.
It is also a tradition that family members call the birthday celebrant on their special day. This year, I forgot to call him. Sigh. No excuses. One should not have any excuses for forgetting that. The dear boy received not a single call…not from either set of grandparents, nor his sister, nor his aunts or uncles. Double sigh.
Happy birthday my dearest son. From the moment I felt your tiny fluttering movement in my womb, you were my heart. You continue to be. I love you and am very proud of you.