This morning he woke up to birthday wishes and talk of, "At what age do you actually consider yourself old?" We stood at our respective sinks in our bathroom, threw out our plan to make pancakes at home for breakfast, and decided to eat out instead. We dressed ourselves, and dressed our sons. We threw backpacks and diaper bags and two little boys into two cars and drove to Panera Bread. Jake hugged his daddy's arm for the better part of our meal and told him he loved him over and over and over. It never got old - to hear him say it.
I love this sort of spontaneity. I love that three little words from his oldest mean more to him than any gift money can buy. I love him. And I hope he has a day far beyond the amount of special that he is to me (if that's possible).
Happy Birthday, Babe!
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