My youngest son, Huck, was born on Labor Day Weekend. Today we celebrated his eighth birthday by taking him and nine other boys to play Laser Tag. It was, by my boys’ account, a great party: a bunch of boys running around in the dark and shooting each other with lasers (really just fancy flashlights). Then there was cake, made to look like a skateboard (same kind I made Tom for his birthday last May). By my account, the party was fun but loud. After the party, we returned home and cooked a big dinner with all of Huck’s grandparents, who came by to celebrate with us. All in all, it was a good day. Now (10:15pm Sunday) the dishes are washed, Tom and Huck are in bed, and I am ready to fall asleep. I’m even too tired to read.
Huck, I love your quick wit and genuine smile. I appreciate how much you love and care for animals, especially birds. And I even love to hear you play the drums — every day. I love to hear you read aloud — I’m going to try to remember the sound of your little boy voice long after it morphs into its grown-man sound. You’re stubborn sometimes, and don’t often allow others’ opinions to sway yours, but I like to think it means you will have an excellent B.S. detector when you grow up — a good asset. Happy 8th Birthday! We love you!
In bookish news, I’m finishing the test shelves and packing boxes for the Santa Monica Book Fair. I’ll be back with a post and photos of that process tomorrow.