Tonight, as I came home with my Critter from his basketball practice, I opened the kitchen door to the most wonderful spectacle: Varmint had set up a birthday celebratory dinner for me.
There were party hats.
There was confetti.
There was crepe paper.
There were paper and foil stars hanging precariously from the lightfixture in a highly flammable fashion.
There were those little paper roll up blow toys, which, to Critter’s dismay, did NOT make a loud honking sound.
And all of this because Varmint wanted to make my birthday special.
Let me tell you something, friends. The day you are too old to feel all warm and fuzzy when someone hands you a party hat and paper horn and tells you it’s all about you, is the day you might as well lay down and die. Nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, says love like a surprise birthday meal.
Especially one planned and executed by an 11-year-old Varmint.
Thank you, sweetheart. I love you, too.