{ This Week in Pictures }

 

Bowls cover breakfast eggs, lovingly scrambled by a repentant Mama. (She had barked at her little boy when he asked her three times if she remembered her promise to make him an egg in the morning.)

Ms. Road Construction looked so fetching in her hat and trousers that I had to snap a photo.  What else was there to do for ten minutes while we waited in line?

My dear daughter is celebrating her 23rd birthday tomorrow. “Where has the time gone?”

We invited some dear little people to play with us last week while their Mama went out to lunch.  Back when I had my babies, I didn’t have such an awkward time getting up & down off the floor. Back then, I didn’t have to grab my reading glasses to see what the puzzle looks like. I have missed these little happy little folks who give you the opportunity to get down on the floor and make animal noises.

 

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{ Birthday Jealousy }

It’s hard when you are nine years old, and your brother is having a birthday.

It’s harder when your own birthday is 5 months away.

That’s what’s happening at our house.

Big brother Marco’s birthday is approaching and younger brother Jonny is preparing to be jealous.

We try to encourage the idea of being a good “birthday brother.”  That’s when the non-birthday person tries with all their might to rejoice at the blessings given to the birthday boy.

Sometimes this works. Sometimes this fails miserably.

I took a walk with my younger son Jonny today — my arm around his shoulder, pep talk on my mind.

Me: “Let’s ask God to help you be a really good birthday brother.  I know it’s hard.  It’s nicer when you are the one getting the presents. I’m sure he will share his things with you.”

Jonny: “He never shares.”

Me: “Look at my eyes. That’s not true.  He’s a good sharer. You are a good sharer too.  And you’re good at reading….and running….and speaking Spanish….and drawing…”

Jonny: Silence and trying not to smile.

Me: “So, let’s try, ok? I don’t feel bad when it’s your birthday, or Marco’s birthday.  I’m happy for all the birthdays, even when it’s not my own birthday.”

Jonny: “You don’t have a birthday.  You have Mother’s Day.”

© Lisa M. Luciano ~ a birthday-less being who was brought by a stork with a nametag around her neck marked “Mama.”

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{ Golden Birthday }

On my golden birthday, I wore a blue gingham dress and a bobbed haircut.

The doorbell rang.

Molly, Monica, and the two neighborhood Leslies arrived at my tenth birthday party.

Penny Brownell came too.  I think my mom invited her because everyone else in the neighborhood was coming. Penny talked loud and called her dad “George.”  She was new in the neighborhood and she was popular.  And, she was one of those girls who “took your friends away.”

(Little girls are often threatened by other little girls who “take their friends away” by being cuter, funnier or having better toys.)

My mom hooked up a modest, homemade piñata to the small maple tree in the backyard for later.

I sat on the red velvet-covered piano bench to open my presents.  Inside, I felt shy and self-conscious and I still don’t like opening gifts while a group is watching.

I don’t remember what anyone gave me, except Penny Brownell. She gave me an exquisitely tiny paint set.  The tubed acrylic paints and smooth brushes were housed in a petite plastic case that snapped shut.

Penny told me, “I gave you paints because that’s what you always give everyone for their birthdays.”

I was still thinking about her comment as we all piled into the van. I heard my mom say something like, “We’re going to a chocolate factory,” which sounded exciting.

We were really heading out to see the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

 

The film was good, but a vague feeling of disappointment followed me back home where the piñata was waiting, along with Mom’s creative rainbow Willy Wonka cake and the paint set.

I blew out ten candles and ate rainbow cake with my guests.

We gallivanted out to the back yard, where a smiling Penny Brownell hit the piñata so hard it cried candy all over the limp August grass.

Word Prompt:  cake

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